.      :  jHBIIIlll 

i  mm  in  m  i  it  in  itiilN   =1      «  )i   s   ? 


THE    IMMORTAL; 

SI  JDvamattc  Hontance; 

* 
AND     OTHER     POEMS. 


JAMES     NACK. 


tfitjj  n  3B*ranir  nf  fl;*  3ntljnr; 


GEORGE  P.  MORRIS. 


NEW     YORK: 
STRINGER  AND  TOWNSEND,  222  BROADWAY, 

1850. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

JAMES  NACK, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


K.   CraiyktaJ,  Printer  and  Stereo!  :.ptr, 
lli  Fvlton  Strttt,  Ntx  fork. 

^     ' 


DEDICATORY    LINES 
TO 

CHAELES  DICKENS,  ESQ. 


FRIEND  of  my  heart ! — friend  of  the  human  race  ! 

Though  I  may  never  gaze  upon  thy  face, 

Nor  clasp  the  hand  that  has  such  wonders  penned ; 

Yet  when  entranced  by  thy  prevailing  spell, 
I  watch  the  ebbing  life  of  gentle  Paul, 
Or  looking  up,  as  at  an  angel's  call, 

Pursue  the  heavenward  flight  of  " Little  Nell" 
Heart  leaps  to  heart,  and  I  embrace  my  FRIEND  ! 

It  hath  been  given  to  thy  hand  to  trace 
All  that  is  good  and  glorious  in  our  race, 
As  with  an  "  angel's  ken  "  thou  hast  divined 
The  riches  in  the  human  heart  enshrined ; 
Crowns,  sceptres,  laurel  wreaths,  or  robes  of  state, 
Thy  genius  needs  not,  to  reveal  the  great. 

Greatness  is  only  greatness  in  itself, — 
It  rests  not  in  externals,  nor  its  worth 

Derives  from  gorgeous  pomp,  or  glittering  pelf, 
Or  chance  of  arms,  or  accident  of  birth  ; 


2062122 


IV  DEDICATORY     LINES. 

I 

It  lays  its  deep  foundations  in  the  soul, 
And  piles  a  tower  of  virtues  to  the  skies, 

Around  whose  pinnacle  majestic,  roll 
The  clouds  of  glory,  starred  with  angel  eyes  ! 

Such  is  the  lofty  lesson  thou  hast  taught, 
But  still  diviner  blessings  hast  thou  wrought ;  ' 
Like  light  from  heaven,  thy  genius  has  unveiled 
Affection's  deepest  mystery  of  grief, 
And  to  despairing  sorrow  brought  relief, 
Where  reason  and  philosophy  had  failed, 
By  opening  the  fountains  of  the  heart : 
And  therefore  distant  strangers  give  thee  part 
In  their  affections,  as  a  household  guest, 
Who  shares  the  sacred  secret  of  their  breast. 

There  is  a  sorrow  that  can  never  die  ; 

There  is  a  loss  we  never  can  forget, 
Yet  can  it  purify  and  sanctify, 

And  mingle  heavenly  solace  with  regret ; 
And  therefore  do  we  love  thee  and  thy  page, 
Which  moves  our  tears,  but  moves  them  to  assuage  ; 
And  therefore  do  I  hail  thee  as  my  friend, 

And- yield  the  tribute  of  a  grateful  heart ; 
Though  humble  is  the  offering  I  send, 

Affection  may  some  little  worth  impart. 


CONTENTS 


_ 

Page 

Memoir  of  the  Author,  by  George  P.  Morris,          .  1 

THE  IMMORTAL, 9 

' 

MISCELLANEOUS  FOEMS. 

To  my  Wife,         . 87 

She  calls  Me  Father, 90 

A  Father's  Dirge 91 

The  Watches  of  the  Night, 95 

My  Boy, 98 

The  Charms  of  Woman, 100 

To  Mrs.  Mary  B.,  on  her  Birthday,         .         .         .103 

A  Valentine  to  my  Wife, 104 

My  Little  Friend, 106 

A  Hundred  Years  from  Now,        .        .         .        .108 
Ambition,  addressed  to  my  Son,     .         .         .         .110 

My  Darling  Little  Mary,        .  112 

The  Mother's  Pride, 113 

The  Power  of  Affection,         .         .         .    '**'".         .  115 

The  Ringlet,         .......  116 

My  Love  Loves  Me, 117 

Broken  Ties, 118 

The  Battle  of  the  Snakes,  an  Epistle  to  Catharine,  119 

My  Pretty  Birds, 124 

To  One  Remembered  still, 125 


Vi  CONTEXT  S. 

Pagt 

My  Blue-eyed  Maid,  written  at  the  Age  of  Fourteen,  127 

To  my  Friend,  R.  B., 128 

What  Should  we  Do,  my  Brother  ?         .         .         .  129 

The  Grave  of  Mary,  written  at  the  age  of  Fifteen,  .  130 

The  Pearl-handled  Knife, 131 

The  Choice, 137 

To  my  Daughter, 138 

Mount  Vernon,      .         .         .  ,-•     .         .         .         .  1-40 

The  Hero,  inscribed  to  James  B.  K ,        .         .  142 

Woman's  Ministry,        .         .         .         .         .         .145 

New  Year  Hymn,          .         ••#•      •         •         •         .146 

On  the  Death  of  a  Young  Sister,    ....  147 

My  Cap, 150 

To  a  Bereaved  Friend, 152 

Rest,  Baby,  Rest ! 155 

Walter  Scott  and  Washington  Irving,    .         .         .  156 

The  Font, 159 

The  Sum  of  Philosophy, 1  GO 

Jane  Eyre,  written  after   Reading  that  admirable 

Work, 161 

Spring  is  Coming, ib. 

Love  will  Find  out  the  Way,         .         .        .         .163 

New  Year  Thoughts, 165 

Good  Night,  Mamma ! 166 

Wedded  Love, 163 

Resolution,   . 169 

A  Woman  as  She  Should  be,         .         .         .         .170 

Jenny  Lind 171 


MEMOIR  OF  JAMES  NACK, 


GEORGE    P.    MORRIS. 


WHEN  genius  of  no  common  order  is  placed  in  con- 
flict with  circumstances  of  peculiar  difficulty,  it  presents 
a  subject  of  interesting  contemplation  to  those  who 
take  an  interest  in  the  philosophy  of  the  human  mind. 
Hence  the  career  of  James  Nack  has  engaged  the 
attention  of  more  than  one  eminent  writer.  The  ele- 
gant memoir  by  General  Wetmore  is  familiar  to  all 
conversant  with  the  literature  of  our  country ;  and,  in 
the  present  brief  sketch,  we  shell,  to  a  great  extent, 
avail  ourselves  of  his  remarks,  with  a  few  additional 
particulars  from  other  sources. 

James  Nack  was  the  son  of  a  merchant  of  the  city 
of  New  York.  From  his  earliest  years  his  attention 
to  study  and  literature  gave  promise  of  future  dis- 
tinction. His  first  efforts  in  poetry  were  at  so  early  an 
age,  it  might  be  said  of  him  as  of  Pope, 

"  He  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came." 

But  the  fond  expectations  which  his  precocious  talents 
1 


2  MEMOIR. 

naturally  inspired  among  his  friends  and  family,  appeared 
to  be  suddenly  destroyed  by  an  accident,  which  might 
have  been  fatal  to  the  development  of  genius  less 
innate,  or  faculties  less  energetic  than  those  with  which 
he  was  endowed.  He  had  scarcely  attained  his  ninth 
year,  when  one  day,  as  he  was  descending  a  flight  of 
stairs  with  a  little  playmate  in  his  arms,  his  foot  slip- 
ped ;  in  his  fall  he  caught  at  the  nearest  article,  which 
happened  to  be  a  heavy  fire-screen ;  tin's  gave  way,  and 
descending  upon  his  head,  crushed  and  mangled  it 
severely,  depriving  him  of  consciousness  for  several 
weeks,  and  of  his  hearing  for  ever. 

It  is  a  natural  consequence  of  a  deprivation  of  hear- 
ing in  early  life,  for  the  articulation  to  become  gradually 
imperfect  for  want  of  an  ear  to  guide  its  pronunciation, 
and  Nack  has  not  entirely  escaped  this  misfortune. 
Hence,  though  his  speech  is  intelligible  to  those  who 
have  grown  up  with  him,  and  become  accustomed  to 
its  peculiarities,  he  prefers  to  carry  on  his  intercourse 
with  others  in  writing.  To  many  the  loss  of  hearing 
at  so  early  an  age  would  have  presented  almost  un- 
conquerable difficulties  in  the  pursuits  of  science  and 
literature ;  'but  familiar  with  books  from  his  earliest 
years,  the  spirited  boy  only  applied  with  the  more  dili- 
gence to  his  studies.  The  result  may  be  given  in  the 
words  of  the  late  Samuel  L.  Knapp,  who  knew  him  in- 
timately, and  was  well  qualified  by  his  own  talents  and 
attainments  to  appreciate  those  of  his  young  friend. 

"  His  acquirements  at  this  early  age,  in  the  languages 
and  all  the  branches  of  knowledge,  ordinary  and  extra- 
ordinary, are  superior  to  those  of  any  young  man  of  the 


MEMOIR.  3 

same  age  I  ever  met  with.  There  is  a  strength  and  ma- 
turity about  his  mind  rarely  to  be  found  in  those  who  have 
experienced  no  such  deprivation  as  he  has  been  visited 
with.  His  criticisms  have  a  sagacity  and  shrewdness 
unequalled  by  those  who  were  critics  .before  he  was 
born.  He  acquires  a  language  with  the  most  astonish- 
ing facility.  No  one  I  ever  knew  could  do  it  with  the 
same  readiness,  except  the  late  learned  orientalist, 
George  Bethune  English.  Nack  unites  in  a  degree 
truly  astonishing,  those  two  seemingly  inconsistent  qua- 
lities, restlessness  and  perseverance.  He  reads  and 
writes,  and  does  all  things  as  though  he  had  just 
breathed  the  Delphic  vapor,  and  perseveres  as  though 
he  were  chained  to  the  spot  by  some  talismanic 
power. 

"  In  a  few  years  our  gifted  author  will  find  things 
changing  around  him,  and  his  youthful  labors  will  be- 
come the  foundation  stones  of  a  goodly  edifice,  in  the 
fashioning  of  which  he  has  learned  the  skill  of  a 
literary  architect,  and  acquired  the  strength  to  raise  a 
temple  of  imperishable  fame  for  his  own  and  his  coun- 
try's glory." 

Such  were  the  impressions  and  expectations  that 
James  Nack  inspired  in  his  boyhood,  even  in  the 
veterans  of  literature ;  and  a  boy  of  such  extraordinary 
promise  must  have  been  remarkable  under  any  circum- 
stances. But  when  we  consider  the  difficulties  he  had 
to  surmount,  we  must  no  less  admire  his  energy  and 
perseverance  than  his  talents.  As  General  Wetmore 
eloquently  remarks,  "  had  not  James  Nack  been  deeply 
imbued  by  nature  with  the  vision  and  the  faculty 


4  MEMOIR. 

divine — had  he  not  been  impelled  by  an  irresistible  love 
and  a  feeling  for  bis  art,  he  never  could  have  overcome 
the  numerous  and  seemingly  insurmountable  difficul- 
ties which  met  him  at  every  turn  in  the  opening  of  his 
career.  Cut  off  in  early  youth  from  that  familiar 
general  intercourse  which  sweetens  the  days  of  child- 
hood and  smoothes  the  path  to  knowledge,  his  sole 
reliance  was  on  his  own  natural  resources ;  an  intel- 
lect vigorous  and  clear,  an  imagination  vivid  and  far- 
reaching,  and  a  resolution  that  could  meet  and  subdue 
the  irreparable  calamity  of  his  life." 

On  the  publication  of  a  volume  of  his  poems,  written 
between  the  fourteenth  and  seventeenth  years  of  his 
age,  it  was  hailed  with  wonder  and  admiration.  One 
of  our  leading  reviews,  in  alluding  to  that  volume,  says, 
"For  precocity  of  talent  and  attainment  under  circum- 
stances peculiarly  unpropitious,  James  Nack  is  an  in- 
tellectual wonder.  As  far  as  known,  Christendom 
contains  nothing  comparable  to  him.  All  things  con- 
sidered, Chatterton  did  not  equal  him.  He  has  written 
much,  and  many  of  his  productions  are  of  a  high  order ; 
all  of  them  are  marked  with  the  rich  and  fervid  out- 
pourings of  genius.  For  intensity  and  all  that  gives 
to  poetry  its  highest  character,  they  are  certainly  not 
surpassed,  we  think  not  equalled,  by  any  of  the  early 
productions  of  Lord  Byron,  and  those  youthful  pro- 
ductions of  the  noble  bard  have  never  received  the 
commendations  they  merit.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say 
of  this  gifted  young  American,  that  when  matured  by 
tune  and  finished  by  labor,  some  of  his  future  efforts 


MEMOIR.  5 

in  song  may  equal  the  happiest  of  those  that  have  im- 
mortalized the  author  of  Childe  Harold."* 

Among  those  who  took  an  active  interest  in  the 
young  poet  was  a  distinguished  member  of  the  New 
York  bar,  who  engaged  him  in  his  office,  and  placed  an 
extensive  and  well  selected  library  at  his  disposal. 
"  This  situation,"  says  Colonel  Knapp,  "  opened  a  new 
world  to  him.  He  revelled  in  fresh  delights,  devoured 
books  upon  poetry,  history,  philosophy,  fiction,  mathe- 
matics, politics,  ethics,  criticism,  and  theology.  He 
wrote  as  well  as  read  on  many  of  these  subjects;  formed 
a  thousand  theories,  and  tore  them  up  root  and  branch 
for  new  creations." 

On  the  departure  of  this  gentleman  for  Europe, 
young  Nack  formed  an  engagement  with  another  of  his 
early  friends,  Mr.  Asten,  at  that  time  Clerk  of  the  City 
and  County  of  New  York,  who  had  been  among  the 
first  to  notice  and  appreciate  his  abilities.  He  soon 
mastered  the  intricacies  of  the  various  duties  required 
of  him ;  and  the  manner  in  which  he  has  fulfilled  them 
has  been  well  described  by  General  Wetmore :  "  The 
dry  details  of  legal  papers,  the  monotonous  toil  of 
searching  the  musty  records  of  the  courts,  however 
uncongenial  to  the  poetic  temperament,  have  no  power 
to  turn  him  from  the  path  of  duty.  He  enters 
thoroughly  into  the  spirit  of  his  various  labors,  and  dis- 
charges them  with  a  zeal  and  ability  which  probably 
few  could  equal,  and  which  has  secured  for  him  not 
only  the  confidence  of  his  successive  employers,  but 

*  As  this  juvenile  volume  has  long  been  out  of  print,  a  few  of 
the  minor  pieces  have  been  included  in  the  present  collection. 


6  MEMOIR. 

the  warm  regard  and  esteem  of  the  members  of  the 
bar." 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1838,  Mr.  Nack  was 
united  to  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  had  been  attached 
almost  from  her  childhood ;  and  who,  it  would  appear, 
from  more  than  one  beautiful  tribute  to  her  worth, 
which  may  rank  among  the  happiest  efforts  of  his  pen, 
must-have  been  every  way  worthy  of  his  choice. 

The  poetry  of  James  Nack  is  characterized  by  a 
versification  remarkably  flowing,  easy,  and  musical — an 
unaffected  and  felicitous  diction — and  a  depth  and 
tenderness  of  feeling  for  which  he  may  be  eminently 
considered  the  poet  of  the  affections. 

His  personal  qualities  could  not  be  more  accurately 
described  than  in  the  words  of  General  Wetmore : 
"  Mr.  Nack's  habits  are  regular  and  retired.  The 
domestic  attractions  of  home  have  a  greater  charm  for 
him  than  the  allurements  of  the  world.  The  amuse- 
ments and  excitements  of  society  can  rarely  win  him 
from  his  books  or  his  desk.  He  is  averse  to  mixed  com- 
pany, reserved  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  but  familiar 
and  playful  in  the  circle  of  his  select  friends ;  of  strong 
passions,  quick  to  resent,  but  quicker  to  forgive ;  prone 
to  act  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment ;  of  a  dispo- 
sition gentle,  generous,  and  sincere.  He  is  fond  of 
children,  and  successful  in  engaging  their  affections. 
With  such  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  he  secures  the  warm  regard  of  those  who 
have  the  happiness  of  his  acquaintance,  nor  that  he  is 
most  esteemed  by  those  who  know  him  best." 

In  conclusion,  the  writer  cannot  forbear  availing 


MEMOIR.  7 

himself  of  this  opportunity  to  express  his  own  high 
appreciation  of  the  worth  and  genius  of  one  whom  it 
has  for  many  years  been  his  privilege  to  number* 
among  his  most  intimate  and  most  esteemed  friends. 

GEO.  P.  MORRIS. 


• 

-  '•   ; 

a 

* 


THE    IMMOETAL; 

*  ''.'* 

1  Srcmutir  Hmrarau, 


'  Once  more  in  man's  frail  world,  which  I  had  left 
So  long  that  'twas  forgotten." 

Prophecy  of  Dante. 


.** 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  Drama  of  the  Immortal  was  written  at  the  age 
of  eighteen.  The  author's  more  mature  judgment 
has  suggested  considerable  abridgment;  and  among 
the  scenes  suppressed,  were  some  that  perhaps  might 
have  been  useful  in  developing  the  object  and  tendency 
of  the  work.  It  therefore  may  be  as  well  to  supply 
their  place  by  a  brief  introduction. 

It  is  assumed,  for  the  purposes  of  this  work,  that 
besides  its  visible  inhabitants,  the  world  contains  a 
higher  order  of  beings,  of  a  spiritual  nature,  exempt 
from  sin,  suffering,  and  death.  A  man  of  lofty  aspira- 
tions, impatient  of  the  errors  and  infirmities  of  his 
fellow-creatures,  and  yearning  for  a  higher  communion, 
is  permitted  by  Providence  to  quit  the  society  of 
mankind,  and  to  dwell  nearly  a  century  with  those 
spirits,  partakers  of  their  immortality.  Among  them 
he  forgets  much  of  his  experience  of  human  life ;  and 
it  is  not  till  one  of  the  spirits  appears  in  a  form  that 
recalls  the  most  endearing  recollections  of  his  long 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

forsaken  nature,  that  he  yields  to  an  impulse  to  revisit 
the  world  of  man.  All  that  he  first  encounters  there 
conveys  the  most  painful  impressions  of  the  miseries  of 
the  human  lot ;  and  the  spirit  does  not  at  first  undeceive 
him,  in  the  view  of  deepening  the  impression  that  this 
is  not  the  world  in  which  it  is  desirable  to  be  an 
immortal;  but  finally  the  spirit  reveals  to  him  the 
higher  destinies  of  mankind,  and  the  immortality  to 
which  we  should  aspire. 

With  this  explanation,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the 
object  of  the  work  will  not  be  misunderstood :  and 
that  if  our  lot  in  this  world  is  portrayed  in  the  darkest 
coloring,  it  is  still  intended  to  show — "  With  all  its 
troubles,  life  is  worth  the  having,"  especially  in  view  to 
the  life  to  come. 


* " 

• 

+**. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


MORELLI,  the  Immortal. 

ANDREA, 

LEON, 

HUGO, 

ADRIAN, 

CARLO, 

FELICIA, 

MARINA, 

JTTLIA, 

ABAMETH. 

Chorus  of  Spirits,  <£c. 


* 


<*  _   9 


THE  IMMORTAL. 


ACT   FIRST. 

MORELLI  appears  on  the  summit  of  a  moun  tain. 

MORELLI.     Ye  hills,  which  towering  to  the  base 

of  heaven 

Receive  its  shadowed  glory  on  your  heads, 
Never  profaned  by  human  step,  save  mine  ! — 
Ye  skies ! — ye  glorious  skies  ! — whose  azure  beauty, 
Melting  upon  my  swimming  eyes,  compels 
The  worship  of  my  tears  ;  nor  reverenced  less 
In  tempests,  when  the  dark  magnificence 
Of  terror  clothes  ye — when  the  light  of  hell 
Glares  on  creation's  pall !     Thou  glorious  sun, 
At  whom  I  scarce  can  glance,  so  beautiful, 
So  bright,  so  awful ! — thou  appear'st  thyself 
Too  much  a  god,  that  such  a  thing  as  I  am 
Should  dare  to  worship  thee,  much  less  thy  Maker  ! 


16  THE     IMMORTAL. 

.'.->*     . 

And  thou  whose  milder  splendors  sweetly  chasten 
The  majesty  of  night !  and  oh,  ye  stars  ! 
Sweet  eyes  of  heaven,  whose  tears  of  light  are  shed 
On  man's  unhappy  world  ! — I  love  ye  all, 
Admire  ye,  worship  ye  !     Long  have  you  been 
Companions  to  my  eyes ;  but  ah  !  my  heart ! — 
Where  can  it  be  companioned  ?     Not  on  earth — 
Of  all  its  multitude  I  found  not  one 
To  recompense  my  love,  or  to  deserve  it. 
Nor  here — howbeit  my  reverence  and  esteem 
These  spirits  claim,  not  being  of  my  nature — 
Their  sympathies  blend  not  with  mine. 

What  curse 

Like  the  heart's  desolation !     Still  the  same 
In  throngs  and  solitude,  interminable 
As  hell,  and  scarce  less  fearful !   But  these  thoughts 
Avail  not — I  must  fly  them  !     Arameth  ! 
Hasten,  hasten,  Arameth, 
Whether  bathed  in  music's  breath, 
Whether  on  the  zephyrs  gliding, 
Or  on  burning  lightnings  riding, 
Whether  earth  in  tempests  whirling 
Or  the  stream  in  breezes  curling, — 
Spirit !  whether  thou  dost  over 
Scenes  of  love  or  carnage  hover, 
Where  are  strewed  the  dead  and  dying, 
Or  to  beauty  youth  is  sighing ; 


THE     IMMORTAL.  1  7 

£ 

Be  thy  errand  what  it  be, 

•/ 

Hither,  hither,  haste  to  me  ! 

Come,  though  called  by  human  breath, 

Hasten,  hasten,  Arameth  ! 

ARAMETH  (invisible").  Form  of  earth  and  soul  of 
fire  ! 

I  have  come  at  thy  desire  ; 

Arameth  is  he/e  to  ask         .•/ 

What  thou  wouldst  appoint  his  task, 

And  thy  bidding,  life  or  death, 

Shall  be  done  by  Arameth. 
MORELLI.  Comest  thou  from  earth  or  air? 

Tell  me,  Spirit,  tell  me  where 

Thou  hast  been — what  hast  thou  seen  ? 
ARAMETH.  One  who  might  be  named  the  queen 

Of  earth  for  beauty. 
MORELLI.  Spirit,  say, 

Canst  thou  think  as  sons  of  clay  ?   ^  0 

Spirit,  I  should  think  thou  must 

Scorn  the  fairest  breathing  dust. 
ARAMETH.  Fairest  earthly  work  of  God 

Woman  seems  to  man  and  me ; 

Man  adores  the  earthly  clod, 

But  the  pure  divinity 

Of  that  clod,  the  holy  breath, 

Homage  claims  from  Arameth. 


18  THK     IMMORTAL. 

MOR.ELIX  Many  years  have  passed  away 
Since  I've  seen  a  form  of  clay, 
Save  when  on  my  own  I  look, 
Imaged  in  the  silver  brook  ; 
And  I  now  am  first  inclined 
One  to  see  of  womankind. 
Spirit,  who  all  forms  canst  wear, 
Though  thyself  possessing  ijone, 
Thee  I  now  would  look  upon 
In  the  guise  of  maiden  fair  ; 
Take  the  image  of  the  same 
Thou  so  beautiful  didst  name. 
ARAMETH.  Light  of  heaven,  be  thou  set 
In  the  hue  of  violet ! 
On  the  hyacinthine  flow, 
Night,  thy  glossy  shadows  throw  ! 
With  the  pure  new-fallen  sleet 
Let  the  blush  of  morning  meet! 
Of  fire  the  brightness 
Of  air  the  lightness, 
The  softness  of  water, 
In  earth's  fairest  daughter, 

Together  blend  ! 
Earth  !  I  dive  into  thy  breast ! 
Now  I  as  thy  loveliest 
Ascend  ! 

gH, 


T  H  K     I  M  M  O  R  T  A  L  .  19 

[ARAMETH  rises  in  the  apparition   of  a  beautiful 
woman. 

MORELLI.    Spirit,  tliou  mockest  me  !   the  form 

•  thou  wearest 

Has  no  original  of  earth  ;  for  heaven 
When  it  a  being  had  created  all 
So  beautiful,  for  very  pity  could  not 
Pronounce  it  mortal !     No,  it  cannot  be — 
It  cannot  be  that  there  is  one  of  earth 
Lovely  as  this  !     But  how  it  tortures  me 
To  look  upon  thee  thus  !     There  was  a  time, 
When  I  was  yet  among  the  sons  of  men, 
That  as  I  gazed  upon  the  face  of  woman, 
Proud  as  I  was  I  could  not  wish  myself 
A  being  of  another  world  than  hers. 
'T  was  the  last  link  I  broke  when  from  the  world 
Of  man  I  sprang  to  yours.     Thy  beautiful 
Embodiment  recalls  such  thoughts  as  might 
Render  me  less  than  man,  though  I  am  more. 

ARAMETH.    And    while  thou  wouldst   be    more 

than  man,  beware 
Of  earthly  recollections.     By  the  express 

Permission  of  the  highest,  thou  dost  share 
Our  immortality,  from  all  distress 

Exempted  that  terrestrial  beings  bear  ; 
For  heaven's  especial  purpose  this  hath  been 

To  thee  allotted,  else  to  all  mankind 


20  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Denied  for  ever ;  but  should  earthly  sin 
Or  even  earthly  weakness  sway  thy  mind, 
That  weakness  or  that  sin  to  earth  shall  bind 
Thy  lot  again,  and  from  the  evils  there 

Deliverance,  save  by  death,  thou  shalt  not  find. 
MORELLI.  The  warning  is  not  needed ;  yet  if  ever 
Woman  should  meet  me,  all  as  beautiful 
As  thou  appearest,  I  doubt  temptation  might 
Awaken  for  a  moment.     How  dangerous 
Must  beauty  be  to  man,  since  it  is  thus 
To  me !     It  is  not  safe  to  look  upon  thee 
While  thou  art  thus  !     Become  invisible, 
Or  change  thy  form  to  one  that  cannot  move  me. 
ARAMETH.  Ninety  years  have  o'er  thee  past 
And  no  change  upon  thee  cast, 
Speeding  on  this  hallowed  height 
As  on  earth  a  moment's  flight. 
Think  not  that  it  thus  could  be 
Were  thy  lot  mortality ; 

Though  the  form  thou  wearest 

Corruption  cannot  know, 
On  earth's  first  and  fairest 

Time  a  change  will  throw. 
Earthly  beauty  !  what  art  thou, 
When  before  thee  thousands  bow, 
When  adored  and  deified, 
Dare  not  mock  thyself  with  pride  ? 


THEIMMORTAL.  21 

As  thy  sire  corruption  name, 
In  the  worm  thy  mother  claim  ! 
All  thy  charms  most  glorious 
All  by  Time  must  vanish — thus  ! 

[Disappears. 
MORELLI.          Can  decay 

Ever  lay 

Its  withering  rod 

On  beauty  such  as  thou  didst  wear  ? 
His  workmanship  so  fair, 

Will  not  the  creating  God 
From  corruption  spare  ? 
ARAMETH.  All  must  perish  !  all  must  perish  ! 
Perish  all  creation  must ! 
All  of  dust  return  to  dust ! 
MORELLI.  Alas  !  may  I  not  cherish 

A  tnist, 

If  there  be  one  of  earthly  sphere 
Lovely  as  thou  didst  appear, 
The  grave  shall  not  her  charms  devour  ? 
ARAMETH.  Nor  shall  it ;  for  the  tomb 
Hath  power  upon  her,  but  no  power 

Upon  her  charms  ;  for  all  whose  bloom 
Corruption  e'er  can  know,  shall  leave  her 

Before  the  hour 

The  grave  is  destined  to  receive  her. 
But  behold 


22  THE     IMMORTAL. 

How  time  shall  mould 
Her  form,  then,  if  thou  canst,  repine 
That  such  should  in  the  grave  recline. 

Open  earth  and  show 
What  time  shall  beauty  render  ; 

The  eyes  once  wont  to  glow 
With  celestial  splendor, 
Feeble  in  their  socket  damp, 
As  the  midnight  charnel-lamp  ; 
Here  and  there 
Dishevelled  hair 

Loosely  sprinkled, 
Wont  in  raven  showers  to  flow 

O'er  a  brow 
Whose  delicate  snow 
A  sickly  dark  usurpeth  now  ; 
Sallow  cheeks,  sunk  and  wrinkled, 
Limbs  which  scarce  the  frame  can  bear  ; 
Veins  whose  blood  is  stealing 
Like  icicles  congealing ! 

Open  earth  !  open  earth  ! 
Open  earth  and  show  ! 
[ARAMETH  rises  in  the  apparition  of  an  old  and 

decrepit  woman. 
MORELLI.  Away !  away  !     What  is  there  in  the 

grave 
So  horrible  ? 


THE     IMMORTAL.  23 

ARAMETH.         Son  of  earth  ! 
Human  birth 

0       Gave  thce  many  a  human  feeling, 
Which  even  here  is  on  thee  stealing ; 

But  mark  thou  well 
The  appearance  now  I  wear, 

And  let  it  be  thy  spell 
To  guard  thee  from  all  earth's  alluring  fair ; 
For  all  must  come  to  this  at  last  I 

Beware !  beware  ! 

When  beauty's  glance  is  on  thee  cast, 
Remembering  what  thou  seest  now, 
Thus  her  magic  disavow. 
MORELLI.  But  why  this  caution  ?     Never  here 
Earthly  beauty  can  appear. 

ARAMETH.  Nay,  but  thy  wish  I  know 
Upon  thy  native  sphere 

Another  glance  to  throw 
And  heaven  thy  wish  forbids  not ;  near 
Will  I  attend  on  thy  career, 
A  warning  to  bestow, 

Should  e'er 

Thy  earthly  feelings  triumph. 
MORELLI.  No ; 

They  shall  not.     Arameth,  I  go, 

If  but  to  test  my  strength ;  from  thee 
I  claim  no  guidance ;  let  me  owe 


24  THE    IMMORTAL. 

Myself  alone  the  victory, 
If,  indeed,  for  one  like  me 
Earth's  temptations  to  o'erthrow  » 

Any  cause  for  triumph  be. 
ARAMETH.  Beauty's  influence  conquer  thou, 
And  earth  and  heaven  will  thee  allow 
Most  triumphant  conqueror ! 
Yet  if  e'er  enthralled  by  her, 
Bear  in  mind  that  down  the  tide 
Of  time  her  every  charm  must  glide, 
Fleeting  with  each  fleeting  year, 
Till  she  become  what  I  appear  ! 

Oh!  why 

Do  mortals  heave  the  sigh 
And  drop  the  tear, 

O'er  those  who  in  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty  die  ? 
Better  in  the  grave  decay 
Than  be  of  time  the  living  prey  ! 
MORELLI.  No  more  of  this,  I  gladly  would  forget 
That  there  is  beauty,  since  I  must  remember 
That  there  is  death  and  time ;  howbeit  the  world 
To  which  I  now  return  must  oft  remind  me 
Of  that,  and  much  beside,  for  which  oblivion 
Would  be  a  blessing  far  excelling  all 
To  earth  accorded ;  yet  as  the  observance 
Of  human  fate  may  better  reconcile  me 
To  mine,  convey  me  thither,  Arauieth. 


THE     IMMORTAL.  25 


• 

ACT   SECOND. 

Scene  in  the  open  Country. 

Enter  ARAMETH  and  MORELLI. 

MORELLI.   I've  seen  all  earth,  and  all  I've  seen 

informs  me 

That  man  exists  only  to  make  himself 
And  others  wretched.     I'm  sick  at  heart  with  pity 
For  all  who  are  thrust  into  a  world  like  this. 

ARAMETH.  Can  that  world  no  good  display 
Every  evil  to  outweigh? 

MORELLI.     Nothing  !     When  man  raves   of  a 

heaven  on  earth, 

I  know  it  for  the  mockery  of  hell !  ^ 

And  there  is  nothing  beautiful  on  earth 
But  ministers  destruction  in  its  beauty  ! 
When  I  beheld  the  tempest  in  its  terrors, 
To  me  they  were  most  lovely,  till  I  saw 
That  they  were  as  destroying ;  when  the  lightnings 
Bathed  earth  in  liquid  fire,  whose  withering  torrent 
Blended  the  ashes  of  the  habitation 
2 


26  THE     IMMORTAL, 

With  the  inhabitants' ;  or  when  the  billows, 
Dashing  against  the  heavens,  in  sudden  swell 
Encanopied  the  bark  that  o'er  their  bosom, 
When  they  were  smiling,  had  as  lightly  danced 
As  danced  the  thoughtless  hearts  wherewith 't  was 

freighted — 

The  hearts  of  those  whose  death-cry  from  the  waters, 
Half-stifled,  pained  my  ear !    How  oft  this  ear 
Has  heard  within  the  space  of  one  short  hour 
The  cry  of  death  repeated  !     From  the  thousands 
Crushed  in  their  palaces  of  pride,  or  hovels 
Of  vileness,  all  confounded  in  the  shock 
Which  hurled  their  city  from  its  burst  foundations  ; 
From  the  red  field  of  war,  where  myriads  butchered 
Opposing  myriads,  till  themselves  had  fallen, 
In  idiot  obedience  to  the  will 
Of  diademed  fools ;  or  from  the  desert  city 
Where  all  the  air  was  poison,  and  the  wretch 
Who  breathed  it,  breathed  his  last  'mid  reeking 

.     heaps 

Of  those  who  died  before  him,  and  none  other 
Near  him  among  the  dead,  except  the  dying  ! 
The  sky  was  fair  then,  and  I  turned  my  gaze 
Towards  it  from  earth's  multitude  of  death. 
The  golden  moon  smiled  on  me,  and  I  said, — 
"  Beautiful  world  of  light !  say,  art  thou  too 
A  world  of  bliss  ?  or  hast  thou  naught  of  heaven 


THEIM MORTAL.  27 

Except  its  splendor  ?     Even  then  thou  art 
More  favored  far  than  earth  !"     Oh,  Arameth  ! 
Remove  it  from  my  sight  and  my  remembrance  ! 

ARAMETH.  Morelli,  thou  shouldst  not  advance 
'  i 

A  judgment  from  a  rapid  glance  ; 
Wait  till  thou  hast  communed  with  men, 
In  act  and  word,  determine  then. 
But  one  approaches — mark  him  well, 
By  his  appearance  thou  canst  tell 

If  time  and  death 
Are  the  mightiest  to  efface 
ft        Every  charm  of  form  and  face. 

Enter  a  MAN  intoxicated. 

MORELLI.  Arameth ! 

What  hideous  brute  behold  I  there  ? 
ARAMETH.  A  man  !  and  such  as  thou  wilt  find 

Commonest  among  mankind ! 

Those  features  the  impression  bear 

By  pleasure  on  her  votaries  set, 

When  nature's  limit  they  forget. 

Her  characters  we  recognise 

In  the  dim,  sunken,  bloodshot  eyes, 
Where  quivers  lurid  fire, 

The  unsteady  gait, 
The  limbs  opprest  by  one  another's  weight, 


28  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Till  thus  they  sink,  and  grovel  in  the  mire  ! 

Oh  ye,  whose  aspirations  climb 

To  a  god-like  height  sublime  ! 

There  your  fellow-man  behold 

In  defilement  beastly  rolled, 

To  the  vilest,  filthiest  vice, 

A  self-devoted  sacrifice  ! 

Mark  him  well,  and  if  you  can, 

Glory  in  the  name  of  man ! 
MORELLI.  Man !  methinks  he  would  profane 

The  name  of  beast ! 
ARAMETH.  Thou  sayest  well ;        4 

Yet  that  form,  so  horrible, 

Was  noble  once — could  once  contain 

A  manly,  nay,  a  godlike  mind, 

Elevated  and  refined, 
And  a  heart  whose  feelings  were 

Of  loftiest  and  loveliest  kind ; 

But  examine  now  his  heart — 

How  brutalized  its  every  part ! 
His  mind — what  idiocy  antics  there  ! 
MORELLI.  To  what  demon  could  belong 

The  power  to  change  him  thus  ? 
ARAMETH.  Listen  to  the  poet's  song  : — 
"  How  divine — how  generous, 


THE     IMMORTAL.  29 

The  pleasures  of  the  social  bowl ! 
How  they  elevate  the  soul ! 
Care  and  sorrow  find  a  grave 
Underneath  the  ruby  wave  ; 
And  o'er  it,  fanned  by  pleasure's  gales, 
Time,  his  scythe  forgotten,  sails. 
And  laughing  loves  within  it  spring, 
Bathing  the  heaven-colored  wing, 
And  with  it,  when  you  kiss  the  brim, 
Into  the  heart  delighted  swim  !" 

MORELLI.  But  how  does  this  the  wretch  concern 
To  whom  my  eyes  reluctant  turn  ? 

ARAMETH.  Askest  thou  what  to  the  sight 
Could  thus  hateful  render  one 
That  once  could  every  eye  delight  ? 
This  the  social  bowl  hath  done. 

MORELLI.  Then  who  would  touch  it  ? 

Deem  that  they  a  manly  name 
From  the  drunken  bowl  can  claim  ! 
Great  spirits  !  they  aspire  to  be 
Such  men  as  thou  in  this  canst  see 
Exampled  ! 

MOKELLI.  Men  I  would  behold, 

But  oh !  not  such ! 

ARAMETH.  I'll  show  to  thee 


30  THE     IMMORTAL. 

His  victims,  and  the  misery 
From  the  cup  of  pleasure  rolled. 

Scene  changes  to  the  interior  of  a  hovel.  Lying  on 
the  floor,  two  children  are  discovered,  the  mother 
bending  over  them. 

MOTHER.     But  he  will  bring  it  soon  !     Alas ! 

poor  wretch ! 

Hope  is  the  only  food  that  I  can  offer, 
A.nd  hope  myself  rejects.     How  still  thou  art ! 
Has  patience  hushed  thee  ?   But  who  can  be  patient 
In  agonies  like  thine,  poor  innocent! 
Thou  meanest  still,  but  in  such  dying  faintness         • 
Scarce  can  a  mother's  ear  arrest  the  sound  ! 
Oh  !  that  my  blood  were  like  the  pelican's, 
To  nourish  thee  !     No  other  food  is  left  us  ! 
Ah  !  now  I  hear  him — ye  shall  yet  be  saved  ! — 
I'll  lead  him  softly  in,  lest  he  disturb  them. 

[Opens  the  door  and  returns. 

None  near ! — I  was  deceived  ! — and  night  is  coming, 
And   then   the  night  of  death !     Bear   with   me, 

heaven ! 

It  is  not  for  myself  I  dare  upbraid  thee, 
But  these  !     I  am  a  mother  ! — would  I  were  not, 


THE     IMMORTAL.  31 

Rather  than  they  were  thus  !  And  thou !  oh  thou  ! — 
Child  of  my  heart ! — my  dearest,  loveliest  one  ! 

[Throws  herself  by  the  youngest  child. 

MORELLI.  Lovely  does  she  call  him  ? 

ARAMETH.  Yes ; 

His  was  cherub  loveliness, 
Till  a  father's  cruelty 
Made  him  even  as  thou  dost  see, 
Who  in  revelry  has  spent 
What  should  be  the  nourishment 
Of  his  children  and  his  wife. 
Draining  from  them  the  stream  of  life 
In  guilty  pleasure's  draught  unholy, 
Which  hath  him  abased  thus  lowly. 

MORELLI.  Shall  we  as  their  friend  appear  ? 

ARAMETH.  No  ;  a  better  friend  is  near ! 
And  see,  upon  the  infant's  brow 
He  shakes  the  chilly  dew-drops  now, 
And  to  the  eyes'  expanded  glare 
Imparts  the  unchanging  vacant  stare, 
And  bida  the  unmoistened  blue  lips  sever, 
Again  to  kiss  each  other  never, 
And  shows  the  veins'  meanders  blue 
The  cheeks'  transparent  likeness  through  ! 

MOTHER.  'Tis  death  ! — 'tis  death  has  stilled  thee  ? 
Shall  T  murmur  ? 


32  THE     IMMORTAL. 

I  will  not !     Heaven,  on  bended  knee  I  thank  thee  ! 
The  blow  had  pity  in  it.     But  oh,  my  heart ! 
Ask  not  what  pity  could  be  in  the  sufferings 
Which  make  the  parent  of  the  innocent  victim 
Grateful  to  death  for  its  release  !     Hark  !  there  ! 
He  comes  at  last  to  save  thee  I— save  thee  !     Oh  ! 
Let  not  such  horror  mock  me  !     Let  me  not 
Find  that  a  moment  more  had  kept  the  life 
That  now  is  fled  for  ever !     Art  thou  there  ? 
Come  in,  thou  wretched  father  !     He  is  not  near, 
And  it  was  folly  in  me  to  imagine 
He  might  return,  while  that  return  could  bring 
Relief  to  these  who  are  not  yet  beyond 
Relief,  as  thou  art,  my  sweet  babe  ! — my  cherub ! — 
My  cherub  ! — yes  !  for  beautiful  wast  thou 
As  heaven's  own  cherubs  are  !     And  art  thou  not 
A  cherub  now  in  heaven  !     But  these  fond  eyes 
Are  widowed  of  thy  charms  !     My  God,  forgive 
These  ingrate  murmurs !     Kindly  hast  thou  ended 
His  sufferings,  and  should  I  not  thank  thee  for  it? 
If  I  might  murmur,  it  should  be  that  these 
Are  left  to  suffer  yet.     And  shall  1  pray 
For  their  release  ?     Forgive  me  ! — oh,  forgive  me, 
And   curb    my  impious    thoughts !     My  heart   is 
broken  ! 

ARAMETH.  Wouldst  thou  see  more  ? 

MOKELLI.  Oh,  let  us  fly  ! 


THEIMMORTAL.  33 

In  pity  hide  them  from  my  eye. 

But  hark  !  what  sudden  sound  alarms  ? 
ARAMETH.  It  is  the  din  of  clashing  arms  ; 

And  hark  that  groan  !  in  desperate  fight 

Some  wretch  is  struggling  for  his  life. 
MORELLI.  Haste  !  lead  me  to  the  scene  of  strife — 

Haste  to  protect  the  right ! 


34  THE     IMMORTAL, 


ACT    THIRD. 
Scene — a  Garden  adjoining  a  Country-house. 

Enter  LEON. 

LEON.  Seek  virtue  upon  earth  !  ha  !  take  the  sun 
From  heaven  to  light  thee  in  the  search,  and  then 
Thou  wilt  discover — what  ? — what  ?   Why,  the  folly 
Of  seeking  that  as  real  which  exists 
Only  in  the  imagined  fantasy 
Of  dreaming  ignorance  !     So  have  they  told  me, 
Who,  when  they  sketched  their  picture  of  the  world 
Set  their  own  hearts  for  the  original — 
Hearts  which,  unknown  to  virtue,  would  not  deem 
That  others  knew  her  better.     For  myself, 
Should  I  allow  to  every  human  heart 
As  fair  a  claim  to  virtue  as  my  own 
Can  arrogate,  and  neither  more  nor  less, 
I  make  no  question  but  upon  the  whole, 
At  such  an  estimate,  all  human  virtue 
In  the  amount  would  be — let's  see — let's  see — 
Aye,  aye,  I  have  it — 'twould  be — even  nothing  ! 


THE: M MORTAL.  35 

For  take  me  piecemeal,  and  anatomize  me, 
Body  and  soul,  yet  will  it 'puzzle  you 
From  my  whole  composition  to  pick  out 
One  particle  of  virtue.     But  I  am  not 
Of  those  who  judge  others  by  themselves  ; 
Neither  a  votary  nor  an  infidel 
Am  I  to  virtue  ;  I  mock  her,  yet  I  doubt  not 
That  she  exists,  and  her  divinity 
Breathes  on  the  spirit  of  man,  though  not  on  mine ; 
But  human  deeds  are  not  the  oracles 
That  tell  me  so  ;  I  never  trust  to  them, 
Or  good  or  ill  in  seeming.     To  be  certain 
Of  any  thing,  we  first  must  ask  ourselves 
If  we  ourselves  have  known  it.     That  assurance- 
Have  I  of  virtue,  though  I  now  disclaim  her, 
For  I  have  known  her  once — might  know  her  still, 
Tf  so  it  were  my  choice.     I  was  not  made 
Her  foe  by  nature,  but  by  circumstance. 
I  found  this  world  was  never  made  for  virtue, 
But  for  hypocrisy,  which  steals  the  guerdon' 
That  virtue  toils  for  in  successless  labor ; 
And  therefore  I  conformed  me  to  the  world 
That  fate  has  thrust  me  into.     Virtue  can 
Exist  without  the  name,  so  can  the  name 
Exist  without  her  ;  and  of  these  the  latter 
I  rather  choose,  and  truly  T  have  found 
The  choice  no  bad  nno. 


36  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Enter  HUGO. 

Ah  !  my  saintly  brother ! 
He  sees  me  not :  I  will  approach ;  nor  then, 
Nor  ever,  shall  he  see  me  as  I  am. 
No  more  of  truth,  good  tongue  !  'tis  pardonable 
Unheard,  not  otherwise.     Hugo,  my  brother  ! 

HUGO.  My  brother  Leon,  welcome  ! 

LEON.  Who  are  those 

Advancing  yonder  ? 

HUGO.  I  think  I  see  our  father, 

Or   the  uncertain    glimpse    caught    through    the 

branches 
Deceives  my  eye. 

LEON.  They  turn,  and  there — 't  is  he 

Indeed  :  but  one  is  with  him  whom  my  eyes 

j 

Remember  not. 

HUGO.  Nor  mine ;  but  be  whoever 

He  may,  he  seems  of  noble  bearing. 

LEON.  Hush ! 

Enter  ANDREA  with  MORELLI. 

ANDREA.     Welcome,    my   sons,    and    give    this 

stranger  welcome, 

Who  saved  my  life  at  peril  of  his  own, 
But  now,  when  at  the  mercy  of  banditti 
I  lay  defenceless. 

.     \ 

j^. 

O.W 


THE     IMMORTAL.  37 

HUGO.  Words  can  never  thank  him. 

LEON.  But  hearts. 

MORELLI.       Forbear !     From  all  I  know  of  men, 
No  man  has  ever  cause  to  thank  another ; 
And  the  best  deed  that  claims  our  gratitude, 
Probed  to  the  core,  betrays  some  rotten  taint 
Of  selfishness  or  worse. 

LEOX.  Yet  virtuous  men — 

MORELLI.  Are  men  unknown  to  earth.     I  have 

seen  the  world, 

And  many  are  the  things  the  world  contains ; 
But  two  are  wanting — happiness  and  virtue. 

LEON.  Ah,  say  not  so ! 

AKDREA.  My  lord,  it  is  apparent 

That  thou  hast  been  by  evil  men  surrounded, 
And  deemed  that  they  exampled  human  nature  ; 
But  I  have  hope  I  may  divert  thy  mind 
From  such  injustice.     Let  me  recommend 
My  sons  to  thy  observance,  for  the  virtues 
Of  either  were  alone  enough  to  win  thee 
To  an  acknowledgment  that  all  mankind 
Are  not  depraved  ;  those  virtues  long  have  flourished 
Before  my  glad  paternal  eye.     My  lord, 
Saidst  thou  there  was  no  happiness  on  earth  ? 
I  would  that  thou  hadst  sons,  even  as  these  two, 
Thnt  thou  miohtst  know  a  father's  happiness 
\\  hen  by  bis  children's  virtue  he  is  blest. 


38  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Had  I  no  other  cause  to  thank  my  Maker 

For  my  existence,  it  were  cause  enough 

For  gratitude  most  infinite,  that  I 

Have  given  existence  to  such  sons  as  these, 

Whose  filial  love  and  manly  virtues  bless 

Their  father !     Oh,  ye  gracious  heavens !  look  down 

While  thus  I  call  your  dearest  blessings  on  them  ! 

May  theirs  be  all  the  joys  that  I  have  known, 

Without  the  sorrows  !    May  they  in  their  offspring 

Be  blest  as  I  am  now  in  them. 

MORELLI.  So  be  it ! 

I  am  no  father,  but  my  heart  can  wish 
A  father's  prayer  success,  when  breathed  as  now 
To  bless  his  offspring ;  but  upon  occasion 
May  not  a  father's  prayer  arise  to  curse 
Children  whose  guilt  has  cursed  him  ? 

ANDREA.  To  speak  of  such 

To  me,  were  as  to  speak  of  hell  to  spirits 
In  heaven.     But  come,  my  lord,  beneath  our  roof 
May  further  proof  be  found  that  happiness 
Is  not  unknown  on  earth. 

HUGO.  Indeed,  my  lord, 

My  Paradise  is  there  ! 

MORELLI.  Well,  may  it  prove  so  ! 

[Exeunt  MORELLI,  ANDREA,  and  HUGO. 
LEON.  Aye,  brother !  get  thee  to  thy  Paradise  ! 


THE     IMMORTAL.  39 

Is  there  no  serpent  near  it  ?     Where  is  Leon  ? 

Is  there  no  woman  in  it  ?     Ha  !  ha  ! — what  is  it  ? 

What  is  it  but  a  woman  ? — a  woman  ! — ha !  ha  ! 

Oh  !  what  a  precious  world  of  fools  we  have  ! 

Woman  exiled  us  from  the  Paradise, 

Else  our  inheritance,  and  yet  we  make 

Our  earthly  Paradise  depend  on  woman  ! 

Marry,  good  brother,  Hugo  !  't  is  a  pity 

The  tales  our  grandam  mumbled  o'er  our  cradle, 

And  gownsmen  still  rehearse,  in  their  impression 

Upon  thee,  turn  to  an  account  so  little ! 

But  trust  me,  if  experience  do  not  teach  thee 

To  better  purpose,  't  is  no  fault  of  mine  ! 

Let  us  remember  that  our  father  blest  us, 

Though  Heaven,  whom  he  has  troubled  for  our  sake, 

Will  not  remind  us  by  the  answer 

He  looks  for,  if  by  any.     Well  I  know 

The  blessings  that  await  thee  ;  thou  art  welcome 

To  all  of  the  kind  !     I'll  help  thee  to  as  many 

As  ever  I  can,  and  more  than  I'll  be  thanked  for  ! 

But  what  said  our  papa  ?     "Ye  gracious  heavens  ! 

May  they  be  in  their  offspring  blest  as  I  am 

In  them  !"     We  crooked  our  knees  in  filial  duty  ; 

So  will  our  sons  when  we  pray  over  them, 

Whether  they  be  as  thou  or  I !     No  matter — 

I  seek  not  happiness  from  my  own  virtue, 

Or  any  other's.     Ye  heavens  !  if  ye  do  hear  me, 


4(T  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Let  all  my  children  be — e'en  what  they  may  be  ! 

But  see  the  moralists  !     How  I  hate  their  prosing  '• 

Yet  would  I  stay  and  cant  like  one  of  them 

In  their  own  dialect,  if  so  it  were  not 

There  is  another  thing  that  I  must  look  to — 

And  let  them  look  to  it,  for  they  must  anon. 

Aye,  rave  of  thy  fools'  Paradise,  sweet  brother  ! 

I  pray  your  pardon,  that  I  do  not  stay 

To  mark  what  you  may  please  to  say  about  it ; 

I've  more  to  do  with  it.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  MORELLI,  ANDREA,  and  HUGO. 

HUGO.  If  it  would  please  you, 

My  lord,  although  we  have  not  found  them  there, 
They  will  return  ere  we  await  them  long ; 
But  see 


Enter  a  LITTLE  GIRL  and  BOY. 

GIRL.  Now  is  not  this  a  pretty  flower  ? 

BOY.  This  is  the  prettiest  though  !    I'm  sure  papa 
Admires  it  most. 

GIRL.  ,  True,  mine  is  not  so  pretty  ; 
I  wish  it  were,  for  then  it  would  so  please  him, 
And  he  would  love  me  for  it. 

BOY.  Take  this,  sister, 

For  you  shall  give  it  him.     Pa  loves  us  both, 


THE      IMMORTAL.  41 

And  I'm  as  glad  when  he  is  pleased  with  you 
As  't  were  myself. 

HUGO  (advancing.   Indeed,  pa  loves  you  both. 
My  little  cherubs  !  and  if  anything 
Could  make  me  love  you  more,  it  were  your  love 
To  one  another.     Look  upon  me,  stranger ! 
While  those  dear  lovely  innocents  are  clinging 
Around  me  thus.     Oh  !  say  am  I  not  happy  ? 

MORELLI.  And  these  are  mortals ! — these  !     Oh, 

Arameth ! 

How  cruel  is  such  beauty  to  the  sight 
That  shoots  beyond  the  present !     Is  it  so  ? 
And  must  they 

HUGO.  He  is  strangely  moved. 

ANDREA.  My  lord ! 

MORELLI.   S-weet  innocents,  come  hither !     Fear 

me  not, 

7 

Though  for  a  moment  from  a  father's  bosom      i 

I  take  you  to  my  own.     Rich  as  he  is 

In  your  embraces,  he  without  begrudging 

Can  spare  me  one.     How  sweet !     My  spirit  springs 

Ujj<  n  ray  lips,  as  if  it  there  would  melt 

Into  the  rosy  snow  they  glow  upon  ! 

Yet  what  to  me  are  these  more  than  the  other 

Children  of  men  ?     Heavens  !  if  they  were  my  own 

What  were  the  ecstasy,  which  even  now 

Is  like  to  that  around  the  spirit  gliding 


42  THEIMMORTAL. 

When  all  the  air  is  music !     How  this  kiss — 

And  this — and  this,  thrill  my  delighted  soul ! 

But  ah  !  what  are  they  to  a  father's  kiss  ? 

A  father's  kiss  !     Oh,  if  I  had  a  child — 

A  child  of  mine,  upon  whose  cheek  of  beauty 

My  lips  might  dwell,  as  now  they  dwell  on  this, 

Ye  heavens  !  I  would  entreat  you  in  that  moment 

The  cherub  and  myself  might  both  become 

Immovable  to  all  eternity  ! 

For  sure  a  father's  kiss  were  heaven  itself 

Were  it  but  as  eternal !     But  they  struggle 

To  seek  their  father's  arms  again  ;  nor  longer 

Will  mine  imprison  them  from  the  embrace 

They  love.     Receive  them.   Now  I  call  thee  happy  ! 

Mortal !  thou  art  a  father ! 

ARAMETH  (invisible).  Morelli,  hear  ! 
MORELLI.  Arameth ! 
ARAMETH.  Listen  and  reply, 

For  every  mortal  ear 
Is  deadened  while  I  hover  nigh  ; 
And  glazed  is  every  mortal  eye 
As  in  the  fixed  transparency, 
Fascinating  painfully, 
The  gazer  on  the  wreck  of  death  ! 

Behold 

The  group  around, 
Who  stand  as  if  their  mould 


THE     IMMORTAL.  43 

Were  marble !     Feeling,  sight,  and  sound, 
All  forsake  them,  save  their  breath, 
Till  I  take  the  spell  away. 
Mark  those  infant  forms  of  clay ; 
Though  lifeless  marble  either  seemeth, 
Around  their  glowing  features  beameth 
A  magical  charm,  which  appears  to  be 
The  spirit  of  the  Divinity  ! 

See !  oh,  see  ! 
Are  they  not  beautiful  ?  and  would  they  not, 

If  thine,  be  dear  to  thee  ? 
MORELLI.  Dear  !  oh,  heaven  ! 
ARAMETH.  Wilt  thou  embrace  a  mortal  lot, 

That  such  as  those 
May  to  thyself  be  given  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot 
That  thy  life  among  mankind 

Was  but  a  life  of  woes  ? 
Cause  but  little  couldst  thou  find 
To  think  thyself  the  giver's  debtor  ; 
Theirs  perhaps  may  be  no  better  : 
Soon  their  blessings  may  forsake  them, 
Curses  soon  may  overtake  them ; 
Yes,  their  fate  may  in  a  morrow 
Turn  their  parents'  joy  to  sorrow  ; 
Withering  fever  may  embrace  them, 
Pale  consumption  may  deface  them, 


44  THEIM  MORTAL. 

•  * 

Hide  their  bloom  in  ghastly  -whiteness, 
Sink  their  eyes,  and  quench  their  brightness  ; 
And  shouldst  thou  behold  them  languish, 
Writhing  on  a  bed  of  anguish, 
And  the  father  o'er  them  bending, 
Listening,  with  bosom  rending, 
To  the  smothered  feeble  moaning, 
Or  the  wild  hysteric  groaning, — 
Mark  his  feelings,  and  inquire, 
Who  would  be  a  mortal  sire  ? 
CHORCS  OF   SPIRITS.    Who  would  be  a  mortal 

sire  ?  (wild  laughter.) 
MORELLI.    Canst  thou  be  Arameth  ?     Art  thou 

not  rather 

A  spirit  accurst  ?     And  who  are  those  with  thee, 
Echoing  thy  laugh  of  horrid  mockery  ? 
ARAMETH.  Morelli ! 

MORELLI.  Vex  me  not.     These  eyes  are  blinded 
What  is  it  dims  them  ? — tears  ? 
ARAMETH.  Morelli ! 
MORELLI.  Wretches ! 

Back  to  your  native  hell !     I  knew  ye  were  not 
Of  heaven  ;  but  did  not  think  that  ye  were  spirits 
Of  evil,  else  when  it  was  offered  first 
I  would  have  spurned  your  fellowship,  as  now 
I  spurn  it,  for  I  know  ye  !     Hell  alone 
Could  laugh  to  mock  a  father's  agonies  ! 


45 


Earth,  I  abhor  thee  ! — man,  I  would  despise  thee, 
But  that  thou  art  beneath  contempt !     And  yet, 
Earth  !  thou  shalt  be  my  home,  and  man  shall  be 
My  fellow !     Rather  would  I  weep  with  mortals 
For  mortal  sorrows,  than  laugh  at  them  with  fiends  ! 
ARAMETH.  We  laugh,  but  not  at  human  woes  ; 
We  laugh  at  human  folly  ! 
He  to  whose  view 
Stern  melancholy 
The  destiny  of  mortals  shows, 
In  the  hue 
Most  dark  and  true  ; 
He  who  knows 

What  sorrows  man  is  born  to  bear, 
What  sins  to  do, — 
Can  he  suppose 

That  it  can  be  a  mortal's  prayer 
To  be  a  father,  and  to  send 

Others  into  the  world  to  share 
The  curses  that  himself  attend  ? 
We  laugh  at  this,  yet  might  we  weep, 

For  folly  so  insane 
To  contemplation  deep 

Presents  a  sight  of  pain  ! 
Childless  mortal !  check  the  prayer 
Thou  wouldst  proffer  for  an  heir ! 


46  THE     IMMORTAL. 

• 

Not  name  and  fortune  alone  would  be 
His  inheritance  from  thee. 
No,  ah  no  !  he  would  inherit 

All  the  damning  sins  that  stain, 
All  the  pangs  that  wring  thy  spirit ! 

Man  but  lives  for  sin  and  pain  ! 
Is  it  then  not  truly  said, 
Favored  is  the  childless  bed  ? 
CHORUS.  Favored  is  the  childless  bed  ! 
ARAMETH.  Lay  to  heart  what  we  have  spoken  ; 

Answer  not — the  spell  is  broken  ! 
ANDREA.  My  lord  you  have  been  silent  long,  as 

rapt 

In  some  deep  meditation  ;  may  we  ask 
To  know  its  nature  ? 

MORELLI.  In  your  ignorance 

Be  happy.     Knowledge  is  the  deadliest  foe 
To  happiness,  which  lives  not  for  a  moment 
Save  in  delusion.     Why  should  these  poor  infants 
Cling  to  their  parents  with  such  trusting  fondness  ? 
What  have  ye  done  in  merit  of  their  love  ? 
HUGO.  We  love  them. 

MORELLI.  •  And  that  love  ye  manifest 

By  your  endearments,  lavishing  upon  them 
Your  kisses  and  caresses,  which  you  cannot 
Be  sparing  of  for  your  own  pleasure's  sake. 


THEI  M  MORTAL.  47 

But  spare  ye  nothing  from  your  children — nothing  ! 
Yield  them  your  all — grovel  in  earth  before  them — 
Sweat  in  the  toil  of  slaves  for  them — tear  open 
Your  bosom,  that,  if  it  may  pleasure  them, 
Those  lips,  on  which  you  set  your  seal  of  love, 
May  drain  the  very  life-blood  from  your  heart ! 
All  were  too  little  to  atone  the  sin 
That  you  have  done  against  them. 

HUGO.  How,  my  lord  ? 

MORELLI.    Did  you  not  give  them   life  ?     And 

what  is  life  ? 

Sin,  sorrow,  danger,  disappointment,  pain, 
Wounds,  sickness,  toil,  fatigue,  ennui,  distress, 
Deserted  loneliness,  friendship  estranged, 
Affection   wronged,   heart   wrung,   hope    crushed, 

fame  blighted, 
Remorse,  despair,  and  phrensy — this  is  life ! 

ANDREA.  My  lord,  when  young  and  struggling 

with  the  world, 

Such  bitter  thoughts  were  mine ;  but  I  have  found, 
With  all  its  troubles,  life  is  worth  the  having, 
And  so  thou  wouldst  acknowledge,  didst  thou  know 
The  blessings  that  are  given  us ;  if  thou  wert 
A  father. 

MORELLI.  Ever  may  such  curse  be  spared  me  ! 

HUGO.  And  sure  thou  hast  forgotten  what  it  is 
To  have  a  father — to  be  blest  by  him — 


48  THE     IMMORTAL. 

To  bless  ourselves  in  blessing  him — to  shield 
His  venerable  head  from  every  gale 
That  blows  too  rudely. 

ANDREA.  Happy  wouldst  thou  be 

If  thou  hadst  sons  like  mine. 

Enter  ADRIAN  and  CARLO. 

And  there  approaches 

My  youngest  hope,  and  with  him,  my  poor  Carlo, 
My  brother's  orphan  boy,  dear  to  my  heart 
As  if  he  were  my  own.     Observe  the  smile 
That  brightens  either  face — are  they  not  happy  ? 
ADRIAN.  Joy  !  joy  !   my  father  !     Bless  me  ! — 

need  I  ask  it, 

Blest  as  I  am  ?     My  knee  can  scarce  support  me 
Beneath  the  o'erwhelming  weight  of  happiness  ! 
Here  let  me  lie  till  calmness  still  the  brain, 
Now  whirled  in  ecstasy  !     My  own  Felicia  ! 
Mine — yes  !  my  own  !     Oh  !  I  could  weep,  Felicia ! 
CARLO.  Let  not  the  shock  of  joy  crush  reason's 

throne, 
My  friend. 

ADRIAN:   She  loves  me  ! — yes  !    she  does — she 

loves  me ! 

Trouble  me  not,  for  I  would  think  of  this, 
And  all  but  this  forget !     Away !  away  ! 


THE     IMMORTAL.  49 

CARLO.    My  joys   are   none    the    less,   though 

better,  mastered, 

They  burst  not  forth  in  an  extravagance 
That  threatens  reason.     Yes,  my  more  than  father, 
I  am  most  happy  that,  with  thy  approval, 
Before  to-morrow's  close  shall  Julia  bless  me. 
But  she  approaches,  whose  consenting  smile 
Has  phrensied  Adrian. 

Enter  FELICIA. 
ARAMETH  appears  as  a  decrepit  old  woman. 

AKAMETH.  Look  upon  me  in  a  guise, 
Visible  only  to  thy  eyes  ; 
She  whom  thou  beholdest  there 
Is  one  of  human  birth, 
The  loveliest  on  earth  ; 
But  of  the  beauty  mortals  wear, 
If  thou  wouldst  see 
The  essential  worth, 
Gaze  at  her,  then  gaze  at  me. 
MORELLI.  Away  !     'Tis  she  ! — 'tis   she  !     Oh  ! 
Arameth ! 

[MORELLI  rushes  to  FELICIA,  and  falls  at  her 
feet.  The  others  group  around  in  wonder  and 
anxiety.  Scene  closes. 


50  THE     IMMORTAL 


ACT    FOURTH. 

MORELLI  is  discovered  lying  insensible  on  the 
summit  of  a  hill. 

ARAMETH  (invisible).  Awake ! 
From  the  sleep 
That  thee  doth  steep, 

Awake  !  awake ! 
Dead  oblivion  from  thee  shake  ! 
The  scattered  senses  all 
To  thy  mind  recall ! 
Awake  !  awake  !  awake  ! 
MORELLI.  It  was  a  vision,  and  a  dreary  one  ; 
But  it  hath  past,  and  I  am  wakened  now, 
To  what  ? — to  dreariness  whose  heavy  darkness 
They  scarce  can  dream  of,  whom  it  never  shrouded ; 
Nor  can  it  pass  away,  save  with  existence  ! 
But  it  is  well  existence  hath  an  end, 
And  with  it  ends  its  sorrows.     I  have  dreamed 
My  curse  of  life  eternal ;  now  awakened, 
How  glad  am  I  to  know  there  yet  shall  be 


THE     IMMORTAL.  51 

A  time,  that  my  last  sigh  shall  with  a  breath 
Scatter  together  the  sorrows  and  the  ashes 
Of  what  was  once  a  heart,  like  to  a  wild 
Deserted,  open  still  to  the  approach 
Of  all,  yet  shunned  by  all ;  or  if  by  any 
Approached,  by  them   approached  with   clogged 

reluctance, 

And  instant  fled  with  feathered  eagerness ; 
Thus  the  affections  of  mankind,  to  whom 
My  heart  was  ever  open,  have  approached  it 
And  vanished  from  it ;  thus  would  hers,  the  bright 
Creation  of  the  vision,  she  who  burns 
My  eyes,  my  soul,  with  her  sun-dazzling  beauty, 
Which  blazes  on  me  still  as  if  it  were 
Before  me,  though  I  know  'twas  but  a  dream. 
Oh,  thou  mysterious  power  !  whate'er  thou  art, 
That  giveth  to  the  mind  delusion's  eyes 
When  sleep  hath  locked  the  body's,  to  what  end 
Hast  thou  this  vision  sent  ?     Wouldst  madden  me 
With  the  imagination  of  a  beauty, 
Found  in  no  world  but  those  of  thy  creation  ? 
Whate'er  thy  end  in  that,  I  need  not  ask 
Why  I  was  linked  by  thee  to  beings  as  far 
Above  me  as  I  deem  mankind  beneath  me ; 
'T  was  to  instruct  me,  that  might  it  be  so 
Indeed,  the  desolation  of  my  heart 


52  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Were   none  the   less.     And   this  was  meant  for 

comfort ! 

'T  is  the  philosophy  of  desperation 
Wrings  comfort  from  the  thought,  that  from  the  worst 
No  change  is  for  the  worse  ;  but  thou  hast  shown 
That  none  were  for  the  better.     Must  I  find 
In  this  my  consolation  ? 

ARAMETH.  Morelli ! 

MORELLI.  Ha ! 

ARAMETH.  Morelli ! 

MORELLI.  It  was  no  dream  then  ! 

ARAMETH  appears. 

Fearful  being  !  I  know  thee ! 
ARJSMETH.  Time  was  thou  didst  curse  thy  fate, 
That  ungenial  tie  should  mate 
One  of  thy  aspiring  mind 
To  the  nature  of  mankind. 
Thy  indignant  aspiration 
After  more  exalted  station 
Happened  to  arrest  my  ear, 
As  I  chanced  to  hover  near. 
Then  I,  looking  in  thy  soul, 
Saw  it  dark  by  the  control 
Of  sorrow,  not  of  guilt ;  I  viewed 
Its  errors,  but  they  were  endued 


THE     IMMORTAL.  53 

With  something  noble  ;  all  declared 
That  thou  wouldst  be  well  prepared, 
From  some  few  frailties  purified, 
With  our  spirits  to  abide  : 
And,  with  heaven's  allowance,  then 
I  took  the  form  that  thou  dost  call 
Fearful,  but  I  remember  when 
I  told  thee  I  could  disenthrall 
Thee  from  the  fellowship  of  men, 
This  form  was  welcome  to  thy  sight ; 
Haply  thou  art  altered  quite, 
And  deemest  I  have  done  thee  wrong, 
To  raise  thee  from  the  human  throng  ; 
Speak,  and  to  them  I  thee  restore. 
MORELLI.  Nay,  let  me  first  observe  them  more. 
ARAMETH.  And  hither  some  this  moment  tend 
Whose  fate  will  much  instruction  lend  ; 
But  it  fits  not  thou  shouldst  claim 
Their  present  sight ;  they  are  the  same 
From  whom  I  snatched  thee  in  thy  trance. 
MORELLI.  Then  conceal  us  from  their  glance. 
ARAMETH.  Ye  exhalations  which  arise 

From  the  sun-clad  deep, 
And  ascending  athwart  the  skies, 

Hiding  their  azure  sweep, 
And  slowly,  to  darken  mortal  eyes, 
The  air  displacing,  creep ; 


THE     IMMORTAL. 

And  every  mortal  so  enshroud, 

That  he  might  think  the  earth  had  all 

O 

Evaporated  in  a  cloud, 

Now  let  your  shadows  on  us  fall ; 
Come  and  veil  us,  where  we  stand, 
From  observance,  while  our  glance 
May  to  all  around  advance ; 
Come !  't  is  Arameth's  command ! 

[A  mist  encircles  the  hill. 

Enter  ANDREA,  HUGO,  LEON,  ADRIAN,  Villagers, 
<kc.,  in  procession,  to  the  bridal  of  CARLO  and 
JULIA. 

Choir  of  MaidenSi 

Oh,  Love  !  the  maiden's  joy  and  pain  ! 

Be  thou  our  guide  to  Hymen's  shrine  ! 
For  his  is  but  an  iron  chain 

When  linked  by  any  hand  but  thine. 
But,  by  thy  glowing  fingers  twined, 
His  ties  are  as  the  ties  that  bind 

The  blessed  soul  to  heaven  ! 
But  why  for  these  should  we  implore 
The  flowery  fetters,  which  before 

Thy  smile  to  them  has  given  ? 
Of  thee  we  need  but  supplicate 
That  ours  may  be  as  blest  a  fate  ! 


THE     IMMORTAL. 

LEON  (aside).   Amen,  my  dears !   but,  prithee, 

mark  the  end  of  it, 
And  see  what  you  have  prayed  for !     Now  I  think 

on't, 

I  will  not  say  Amen !     I  wish  no  evil, 
Sad  sinner  as  I  am,  but  when  I  think 
That  it  may  work  toward  my  gain  or  pleasure. 
But  hush  !  there  is  another  group  of  fools 
Hemming  their  prelude   to   more  prayers.     Let's 

hear  them ! 

Choir  of  Matrons. 

The  ties  of  Hymen  we  have  found 

A  wreath  of  blended  thorns  and  flowers ; 

Its  sweetness  floats  our  hearts  around, 
But  with  the  sweets  the  stings  are  ours. 

Oh,  love !  we  pray  thee  on  the  wreath 
That  shall  unite  these  lovers,  breathe 

That  every  thorn  may  be  scattered  away, 

But  bloom  and  fragrance  for  ever  stay ! 

HUGO.  Immortal  be  their  love  ! 

LEON  (aside).  So !  it  is  prayed  well ! 

But  I  am  fooled  if  it  speed  any  better 
Than  my  own  prayer — immortal  be  the  lovers  ! 

CARLO.  Julia ! 

ROSA.  What  says  my  love  I 


5e 


THE     IMMORTAL. 


CARLO.  I  am  in  heaven  ! 

LEON  (aside).     Thy  love  shall  soon  be  there ! 

CARLO.  This  is  a  moment 

Worthy  the  sufferance  of  a  thousand  ages 
Of  agony ! 

LEON  (aside).     And  it  is  but  a  moment ! 

[JcLiA  shrieks  and  falls. 

HUGO.  Merciful  heaven ! 

LEON.  Aye,  heaven 's  most  merciful ! 

HUGO.  She  is  dead,  I  fear. 

CARLO.  She  dead !     Who  dares  to  say  it  ? 

'T  is  false  ! — what ! — dead ! — my  own  ! — my  beau- 
tiful !— 

My  love ! — my  bride  !   Dead  ! — dead  ! — and  now — 
oh,  Julia ! 

LEON.  Thy  love  is  now  in  heaven  ! 

CARLO.  I  were  in  hell  then  ! 

Are  these  lips  cold  ?     They  burn  my  soul ! 

ANDREA.  My  son, 

Seek  comfort  in  submission. 

CARLO.  I  will !— I  will ! 

Say,  do  I  weep  ? 

ANDREA.         I  would  to  heaven  thou  couldst ! 

CARLO.  Now  who  shall  part  us,  Julia  ? 

HUGO.  See  the  blood 


THE     IMMORTAL. 


Bursts  from  his  riven  heart,  and  gushes  forth 
Through  his  mouth,  ears,  and   nostrils — even   his 


eyes 


LEON.  He  is  dead  ! 

ANDREA.  Why  do  I  live  ! 

LEON.  Think  of  your  precept — 

Seek  comfort  in  submission  !     The  example 
Becomes  you,  father ;  let  us  have  no  murmurs. 
Since  heaven  saw  fit  to  call  him  to  itself, 
The  will  of  heaven  be  done  ! 

HUGO.  Behold,  how  changed 

This  countenance  !     It  was  no  deed  of  heaven's, 
But  of  some  devil  on  earth  !   She  has  been  poisoned. 

LEON.  Who  could  have  done  it  ? 

ADRIAN.  Be  he  whom  he  may, 

My  vengeance  follows  him,  though  he  should  leap 
To  hell  from  its  pursuit !     Is  it  not  enough 
Such  sweetness  is  his  victim,  but  my  friend  ! — 
My  friend  !     Ye  heavens,  hear  me  !     If  I  forgive 
His  murderer,  deny  me  your  forgiveness 
For  ever  and  for  ever  !     Hear  me,  my  friend, 
And  thou,  his  murdered  love,  while  thus  I  take 
Each  by  the  death-chilled  hand,  I  call  upon 
Your  spirits  to  attest  my  vow,  most  dearly 
To  have  ye  both  avenged !     If  I  forget  it, 
Hurl  upon  me  the  due  of  your  desjroyer  ! 

LEON.  I  pray  you  utter  not  such  bloody  thoughts ; 
3* 


58 


THE    IMMORTAL. 


Let  me  not  name  a  savage  in  my  brother. 
Such  fierce  intemperance  is  most  unworthy 
A  man  who  knows  his  duty. 

ADRIAN.  Mine  I  know, 

And  I  will  do  it.     Look  at  these,  then  tell  me 
If  duty  bids  us  stand  and  moralize, 
As  if  we  had  no  life  but  in  our  tongues  ! 
Should  we  not  rather  be  heaven's  instruments 
To  avenge  them  ? 

ANDREA.         Heaven  can  need  no  instrument ; 
And  heaven  alone  knows  whose  the  guilty  head 
That  claims  its  vengeance. 

LEON.  Sirs,  revengers  sin, 

Yet  justice  is  a  duty  ;  would  we  knew 
Whither  to  send  her  to  o'ertake  the  guilty ! 
But  since  suspicion  hovers  on  a  wing 
Uncertain,  nor  can  find  a  resting-place 
For  justice  to  alight  on,  let  us  leave  it 
To  heaven  to  send  a  guide  in  its  good  time. 
But  are  we  sure  she  is  poisoned? 

ANDREA.  Can  we  doubt  it  ? 

The  suddenness  of  the  effect ;  the  change 
In  these  once  seraph  features. 

LEON.  Sadder  change 

Is  coming  ;  let  us  hide  her  in  the  grave 
Before  her  charme  be  horrors. 

HUGO.  From  his  arms 


THE     IMMORTAL.  58 

We  cannot  part  her ;  they  encircle  her 
As  in  a  marble  fold. 

ANDREA.  Lovely  they  were 

And  pleasant  in  their  lives,  and  in  their  deaths 
They  shall  not  be  divided ;  bear  them  thus 
Together  to  one  grave,  their  bridal  bower ! 

[.Exeunt. 

MORELLI.  And  this  is  love ! 
ARAMETH.  By  the  deceiver's  smile  allured 
Until  thy  heaven  appears  secured, 
But  ere  the  first  step  enters  there 
To  find,  instead  of  hope,  despair  ! 
And  she  who  smiled  upon  thy  flame, 
Kindling  a  rage  too  wild  tib  tame, 
When  her  delusions  all  have  flown, 
Still  smiling,  but  in  scorn  alone ! 
CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS.  Oh,  this  is  love  ! 
ARAMETH.  Or  when  assured,  thy  truth  returning, 

To  thine  is  linked  thy  loved  one's  heart, 
Even  in  that  hour  ecstatic,  learning 
That  destiny  commands  to  part ! 
And  in  agony  awaking 

From  the  dream  of  blessedness, 
Knowing,  while  thy  heart  is  breaking, 

That  her  own  is  wrung  no  less. 
CHORUS.         Oh,  this  is  love  ! 


60  THE    IMMORTAL.-     • 

ARAMETH.  Or  when  she  smiles,  and  every  power 

Smiles  with  her,  and  no  bar  appears ; 
"When  vision  of  the  nuptial  hour 

Thy  soul  in  Paradise  inspheres  ; 
When  joined  for  ever  to  become, 

"With  meeting  lips  and  blending  breath, 
To  yield  her,  in  that  moment,  from 

Thy  arms  into  the  arms  of  death  ! 
CHORUS.  Oh,  this  is  love  ! 

ARAMETH.  But  hark  !  a  mortal  step  is  near. 

Enter  ADRIAN  and  FELICIA. 

MORELLI.  Arameth  ! 

ARAMETH.  In  silence  hear, 

And  let  thy  firmness  now  appear. 

ADRIAN.    Forgive  me,   my  beloved,   if  in   thy 

presence 

Even  my  hapless  friend  is  scarce  remembered, 
Though  dear  my  love  to  him,  and  dear  shall  be 
The  vengeance  I  shall  yield  him ;  but  beholding 
My  promised  Paradise,  can  I  restrain 
My  joy  from  swallowing  all  emotions  else  ? 
If  heaven  should  roll  its  flood  of  bliss  to  earth, 
It  were  too  much  for  our  poor  nature's  weakness 
To  stem,  and  in  it  we  must  needs  dissolve. 
Let  it  not  thus  be  with  me,  prithee,  dearest ! 
The  joy  thy  promise  gives  me  has  too  much 


THE     IMMORTAL. 


^ 

., 


Of  heaven  in  it ;  then  rob  me  of  a  little, 
Or  I  must  die  in  sooth. 

FELICIA.  I  rather  question 

Thou  hast  such  cause.     Consider  that  my  promise 
Was  not  a  gift  of  love,  but  of  impatience  ; 
And  an  extorted  promise  on  occasion 
May  be  recalled. 

ADRIAN.  Recalled ! 

FELICIA.  I've  thought  upon  it, 

And  find  it  is  my  duty  to  decline 
The  acceptance  of  a  hand  I  do  not  merit ; 
Nor  can  I  merit  thine,  as  I  have  not 
A  heart  to  give  thee. 

ADRIAN.  Say  what  have  I  done 

Worthy  of  thy  displeasure  or  contempt  ? 

FELICIA.  Nothing,  dear  Adrian.     I  well  esteem 

you, 

And  as  a  friend  and  brother  love  you  dearly, 
But  never  could  I  love  you  as  a  husband 
Should  be  beloved.     In  pity  to  yourself 
And  me,  I  do  beseech  you  but  to  think  me 
A  sister.     Take  your  heart  again,  and  give  it 
To  one  who  can  repay  you  with  her  own. 

ADRIAN.  Patience ! — are  these  my  hopes  ?   Why 

were  they  suffered 
One  moment? 


0       « 

62  THE     IMMORTAL. 

FELICIA.         Then  my  heart,  although  not  thine, 
Was  not  as  yet  another's. 

ADRIAN.  How  !  another's  ? 

Is  it  another's  ?    But  Til  find  the  villain  ! 
He  bought  it  with  his  life  ? — revenge  !  revenge  ! 

[Rushes  away. 

FELICIA.  Nay,  I  adjure  thee !     Well,  his  madness 

rages 

Without  an  object,  and  so  does  my  love. 
Where  can  he  be,  the  beautiful,  majestic, 
And  noble  stranger  ?     Was  it  not  a  vision  ? 
For  thus  he  came  and  vanished  ;  and  it  may  be 
A  vision  that  hath  past  away  for  ever ! 
But  be  it  as  it  may,  this  heart  is  wedded 
To  his  dear  image,  and  this  hand  shall  never 
Be  any's,  if  not  his:     Would  I  might  meet  him  ! 

[Exit. 

ARAMETH.  Speak,  Morelli,  wouldst  thou  not 
Share  with  her  a  mortal  lot, 
To  enjoy  the  love  which  she 
Thus,  unsought,  hath  rendered  thee ! 
MORELLI.  How  would  I  revet  in  that  dream  of 

heaven, 

But  that  I  know  there  is  no  heaven  on  earth  ! 
How  strong  were  the  control  of  love  upon  me, 


THE     IMMORTAL.  63 

But  that  I  know  far  heavier  the  control 

Of  misery  o'er  mankind.     Even  if  her  love 

Could  make  the  every  moment  of  existence 

A  perfect  joy,  what  were  that  joy's  remembrance 

When   she   were   torn  from  me,  and  hid  in  the 

grave  ? 
ARAMETH.  Fear  not  living  to  deplore  her ; 

Rather  hope  to  die  before  her. 
MORELLI.     And    leave    her    wretched  ?       No ! 

Better  than  either 

Should  mourn  a  separation,  that  we  never 
Should  be  united,  even  to  be  most  blest. 
And  were  no  other  motive  to  dissuade  me 
From  being  a  mortal's  partner,  in  the  fear 
Of  being  a  mortal's  father  were  enough. 
ARAMETH.  Yes,  it  might  be  truly  said 
That  it  were  a  thing  to  dread, 
A  mortal's  father  to  become, 
If  this  mortal  life  were  all ; 
But  it  now  is  time  that  from 

Thy  mental  eyes  the  film  should  fall, 
That  so  darkly  shades  to  thee 
Of  mankind  the  destiny. 
Every  mortal  sire  indeed, 
Oft  must  for  his  offspring  bleed ; 
Oft  must  broken-hearted  mourn 
When  they  to  the  grave  are  borne  ; 


. 


n        » 

64  THE     IMMORTAL. 


Or  with  heavier  grief  opprest, 
Their  existence  see  unblest ; 
Or  exclaim,  in  anguish  far 
More  despairing,  when  they  are 
Plunged  in  infamy  and  sin, — 
"  Better  they  had  never  been  !" 
The  darkest  this ;  the  brightest  side 
Should  thy  observance  now  divide, 
Which  to  thee  I  have  not  shown 
Hitherto,  till  thou  hast  known 
What  existence  would  appear, 
Were  indeed  its  finis  here, 
As  some  fiends  in  human  guise, 
By  their  damning  sophistries, 
Merely  to  insure  their  name 
The  applause  of  fools,  of  heaven  the  blame, 
To  persuade  mankind  would  joy, 
And  all  comfort  thus  destroy. 
MORELLI.  Nay,  such  are  not  the  doubts  by  which 

my  mind 

Is  darkened  ;  not  a  moment  have  I  questioned 
There  is  a  life  to  come,  and  for  the  good 
A  happier  ;  but  observing  that  the  number 
Of  such  is  few,  that  far  the  greater  part 
Sinning,  as  suffering  here,  shall  find  hereafter 
No  end  to  suffering,  how  can  I  but  question     • 
That 't  were  not  better  none  were  ever  born, 


THE     IMMORTAL.  65 

Even  to  good,  than  such  a  multitude 
To  evil. 

ARAMETH.  All  are  corn  to  pain. 
But  none  to  sin,  by  which  alone 

Bliss  they  lose  and  anguish  gain, 
For  their  hereafter ;  all  are  thrown 

Indeed  amid  temptation's  snares, 
But  none  are  there  compelled  to  fall, 

Nor  err  by  any  will  but  theirs  ; 
For  the  power  is  given  to  all 
Nobly  to  win,  or  basely  lose 
The  victory  o'er  them,  as  they  choose. 
Even  we,  the  sinless,  painless  race, 
Whose  nature  thou  aspir'st  to  share, 
May  envy  that  thou  scorn'st  to  bear  ; 
Yes,  willingly  would  we  embrace 
The  evils  whence  we  are  exempt, 
And  follies  moving  our  contempt, 

And  all  would  undergo  that  tries 
Mankind,  were  but  the  trial  done 
As  soon,  and  then  such  trophy  won, 

A  crown  immortal  in  the  skies, 

To  which  we  never  can  arise. 
Here,  though  oft  the  parent  grieves 
For  the  pain  his  child  receives, — 
Here  though  oft  the  child  forlorn 
May  curse  the  hour  that  he  was  born, 


66  THE     IMMORTAL. 

When  on  earth  their  short  career 
Is  finished,  and  they  shall  appear 
Together  in  the  realms  of  rest, 
Blest  the  sire  shall  be  most  blest, 
To  say  before  the  throne  divine, 
"  Here,  my  God,  am  I  with  mine  !" 
In  that  happy  hour  the  child, 

Deeming  all  he  sustained  on  earth 
Trifles  at  which  he  should  have  smiled, 

Will  bless  the  hour  that  gave  him  birth, 
To  dwell  amid  the  angelic  choir, 
In  delight  that  palleth  never, 
With  his  sire,  and  Him,  the  sire 

Of  all,  for  ever  and  for  ever  ! 
MORELLI.    Oh,  say  no   more !     I  should   have 

thought  of  this  ! 

I  have  .been  unwise  !     Restore  my  human  nature, 
Restore  it,  Arameth  !     I  little  care 
What  sufferings  it  may  bring  me,  or  how  long 
Those  sufferings  may  endure,  so  that  at  last 
I  may  accomplish  heaven.     My  God !  I  thank  thee 
That  I  was  born  a  mortal,  to  become 
A  blest  immortal !     Pardon  me,  sweet  heaven  ! 
That  scornful  of  the  nature  thou  hadst  given  me, 
I've  risked  thy  dearest  blessing  !     Oh,  restore  it ! 
ARAMETH.  Thou  canst  resume  it  at  thy  will, 
But  it  were  better  thou  shouldst  still 


THE     IMMORTAL.  67 

Thy  superhuman  nature  keep, 
For  before  it  is  resigned, 

Power  it  gives  thou  canst  employ, 
Either,  for  thyself,  to  reap 

All  of  earth  thou  wouldst  enjoy, 
Or  some  to  bless  among  mankind. 
Be  careful  which  thou  choosest  from 
The  occasions  that  for  this  shall  come, 
For  once  when  thou  employ'st  this  power, 
It  shall  forsake  thee  from  that  hour. 
MORELLI.  I  shall  employ  it  well,  or  if  I  do  not, 
My  will  is  not  to  blame.     Now,  Arameth, 
Convey  me  whither  I  may  best  observe 
Who  needs  my  aidance  most. 

ARAMETH.  Extend  thy  hand. 

Spirits  of  the  rosy  gale, 
Let  him  on  your  pinions  sail, 
Hovering  over  sea  and  land, 
Till  to  pause  I  give  command. 
Ye  obey  me  ? 

CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS.  We  obey. 
ARAMETH.  Then  away ! 
CHORUS.  Away  !  away ! 


68  THE     IMMORTAL. 

ACT    FIFTH. 

Scene — The  Garden. 

ANDREA  enters,  meeting  LEON  with  the  children  of 
HUGO  bloody  and  lifeless  in  his  ai 


ANDREA.  Oh,  God  !  what  do  I  see  ? 

LEON.  Alas  !  my  father  ! 

A  pitiful  sight  is  this  !     And  my  poor  brother  ! — 
Truly  my  heart  would  break,  but  it  becomes  not 
Poor  sinners  to  repine  at  heaven's  dispose. 

ANDREA.  Say,  whence  this  awful  chance  ? 

LEON.  This  little  fellow, 

Happening  to  brawl  about  some  toy  or  other 
With  his  poor  sister,  struck  her ;  this  their  father 
Observing,  struck  the  boy.     Oh,  fatal  rashness ! 
He  fell  upon  the  mangling  rocks  below, 
And  -she  leaped  after  him  as  if  to  save  him, 
And  perished  with  him.     Why  is  man  the  sport 
Of  passionate  impulse,  that  forgets  itself 
To  those  most  dear  ? 

ANDREA.  Alas ! 


THE     IMMORTAL.  69 

LEON.  But  yonder  comes 

The  wretched  father. 

Enter  HUGO. 

HUGO.  I  gave  but  to  recall!     Where  is   their 

mother  ? 
She  had  no  share  in  their  death. 

LEON.  And  haply  thou 

As  little  in  their  life. 

HUGO.  You  make  me  smile, 

Thinking  to  cheat  my  madness  with  a  hope 
That — would  I  were  so  fooled  ! — could  I  forget 
These  children  were  my  own,  I  were  most  happy  ? 
'T  were  but  a  thing  to  laugh  at,  had  this  hand 
Made  childless  all  mankind  so  it  had  spared 
My  own  ;  I'd  think  it  dripping  in  its  crimson 
As  white  as  innocence  !     Who  calls  him  bloody 
That  slaughtered  all  the  innocents  of  Judea  ? 
AVas  he  their  father  ? 

LEON.  In  my  apprehension 

As  much  as  thou  of  these. 

HUGO.  Fiend !  dare  not  mock  me ! 

LEON.  No — I  would  comfort  thee. 

HUGO.  Thou  comfort  me  ! 

And  what  art  thou  ? 

ANDREA.  '  Tis  true,  my  son,  from  man 

No  comfort  canst  thou  find,  yet  heaven  can  send  it. 


70  THEIMMORTAL. 

HUGO.    And   will,  belike !     But  let  its   angels 

shoot 

To  earth,  with  consolation  on  their  wings, 
Deem  you  I'll  thank  them  ?     Rather  will  I  curse 

them 

That  they  prevented  not  what  cannot  be 
Redeemed  by  even  them  ! 

LEON.  Thy  misery 

Blasphemes. 

HUGO.       And  I  must  hush  it  in  submission  ? 
And  so  I  will !     However  it  be  questioned, 
These  knees  can  bend  ;  their  sinews  are  not  iron. 
But  oh  !  my  heart !  my  heart ! 

ANDREA.  Unhappy  boy  ! 

Heaven  knows  it  is  thy  anguish,  not  thyself, 
Speaks  thus,  and  heaven  forgives  thee ! 

LEON.  My  father,  may  we  not  infer 
When  one  sinks  into  guilt  upon  the  sudden, 
He  may  have  slipped  before  ? 

ANDREA.  And  what  of  this  ? 

LEON.  Had  I  a  wife  who  long  appeared  most  true, 
Yet  faithless  proved  at  last,  might  I  not  think 
She  had  before  deceived  me,  and  her  children 
Were  none  of  mine  ? 

ANDREA.  What  then  ? 

LEON.  Why  then  I  question 

Those  were  my  brother's  children. 


THE     IMMORTAL.  71 

V 

HUGO.  Ha! 

LEON.  Thy  wife 

Being  now  convicted  false. 

HUGO.  False? 

LEON.  False,  by  heaven  ! 

HUGO.   By  hell,  thou  art  false  thyself ! 

ANDREA.  Kill  not  thy  brother. 

HUGO.  Has  he  not  killed  her  fame  ? 

LEON.  I  do  ftepent  me  : 

I  spoke  too  hastily  methinks. 

HUGO.  Forgive  me 

My  violence  then  ;  but  they  were  words  to  make  me 
Forget  a  brother  spoke  them. 

LEON.  My  suspicions 

Having  no  certainty,  I  did  not  well 
To  utter  them. 

HUGO.         Oh,  speak ! 

LEON.  Thou  hast  enough 

Of  sorrow  now. 

HUGO.         Speak  !     Dare  no  more  torment  me  ! 

ANDREA.  What  means  this  ? 

LEON.  When  you  hear  it,  pray 

remember 

That  you  would  hear  it.     Yet,  if  I  hope  rightly, 
No  mischief's  in  it.     She  may  take  a  ride, 
Meanintr  no  harm,  howbeit,  by  the  array 
Of  her  and  her  companion,  and  the  speed 


72  THEIMMORTAL. 

Of  their  dark  coursers,  it  is  not  unlikely 
The  ride  may  be  a  far  one. 

HUGO.  Her  companion ! — 

Dark  coursers  !   Darkness  ! — devils  ! — who  was  with 
her? 

LEON.  The  stranger  whom  our  father  introduced. 

HUGO.    Fled,    say   you  ? — fled  ?     Marina  ! — my 

Marina ! 
Thy  Hugo  calls  thee  ! 

LEON.  Hers  were  a  good  ear 

To  know  it  at  this  distance. 

HUGO.  What  is  all  this  ? 

My  children  murdered,  and  my  wife — my  wife — 
What  did  I  hear  ? — something  about  my  wife  ? 

LEON.  Rather  a  wretch  to  whom  that  name  is 

forfeit 
By  her  unworthiness. 

HUGO.  And  she  has  fled 

Lest  she  should  see  the  murderer  of  her  children  ? 
Away  !  away  !  away  !  fly  from  the  air 
Polluted  with  their  blood  and  with  my  breath ! 
Nay,  pause  not  there,  for  it  was  there  they  perished, 
And  perished  by  this   hand! — yes,   mine! — their 

father's  ! 

Hast  thou  no  lightnings,  heaven  ! — has  hell  no  fires, 
This  mtmLrous  limb  to  wither  ? 

LEON.  Other  matters 


THE     IMMORTAL.  7d 

Require  thy  thoughts,  for  it  will  not  be  long 
Before  the  stranger's  pleasure,  or  expedience, 
Returns  thy  wife. 

HUGO.  What  said  you  of  my  wife  ? 

But  do  not  answer  me — why  should  you  speak 
When   these   are   silent  ?     They   have   called   me 

"  Father  /" 

As  I  remember  !     Oh,  't  was  sweet  to  hear  them  ! 
And  now  they  will  not  speak  ! — oh,  never ! — never  ! 

— never ! 

Their  life  will  not  return  lest  I  destroy  it 
Again ;  it  will  not  fear  their  mother  thus  : 
I'll  send  her  to  recall  it.  [Exit. 

LEON.  He  forgets 

In  his  poor  children's  fate  his  wife's  dishonor ; 
For  that  I  blame  him  not ;  the  innocent 
Alone  are  dear,  or  should  be  so.     No  wife 
Lost  in  this  way  was«ever  worth  the  having. 

Enter  ADRIAN  and  FELICIA. 
ADRIAN.  I  have  been  dashed 

From  heaven,  my  father  !     My  Felicia — mine  ? 
Alas !  not  mine  !     She  has  recalled  the  promise 
That  blessed  me  !     Intercede  for  me,  my  father  ! 
ANDREA.  Not  now — not  now ;  I  am  too  full  of 

sorrow 

To  speak  of  anything.     Look  there  ! 
4 


74  THE     IMMORTAL. 

ADRIAN.  Oh,  God ! 

My  eyes  are  drowned  in  blood ! 

Re-enter  HUGO. 

HUGO.  She  will  return, 

But  not  to  us !     How  will  she  laugh  on  the  way 
To  think  of  the  dear  welcome  we  shall  give  her  ! 
And  she  will  come — to  find  us  in  the  grave  ! 
And  she  will  weep  above  us  !     Can  the  dead 
Speak  words  of  comfort? 

ANDREA.  Would  the  living  could 

To  thee  or  to  myself! 

LEON.  I  can  but  say, 

If 't  is  the  will  of  heaven,  all  yet  can  end  well. 

MORELLI  appears. 

MORELLI.  It  shall,  but  not  for  thee. 

LEON.  .  .  Behold  the  villain ! 

ANDREA.  Seize  him  ! 

LEON  (aside).  What  charm  is  this  ?     My 

arm  refuses 
To  rise  against  him  ! 

MORELLI.  I  am  not  the  villain 

Ye  seek,  but  can  instruct  you  where  to  find  him. 
Why  should  the  hypocrite  exult  that  all 
His  deeds  of  evil  are  unseen  of  men  ? 
Fool,  to  forget  that  at  the  bar  of  heaven 


THE     IMMORTAL.  75 

They  must  be  all,  before  assembled  worlds, 
Unveiled  in  all  their  darkness.  As  for  thee  (to  LEON), 
I  charge  thee  here  with  what  thou  must  acknowledge 
Hereafter.     Fearing  that  she  would  betray 
The  villany  thou  hadst  designed  her  honor, 
And  mad  with  disappointment,  thou  hast  poisoned 
The  innocent  Julia. 

ADRIAN.  Is  it  so  ?     Speak,  villain  ! 

LEON.  Provoke  me,  boy  ! — you  had  best ! 
ANDREA.  Oh,  part  them  !  part  them ! 

MORELLI.  Good  youth,  I  pray  you  leave  him  to 

the  fate 
That  heaven  appoints  him.     But  before  condemned, 

sir, 

Take  your  own  time  to  coin  a  vindication 
Ingenious  as  you  please  ;  you  shall  be  heard, 
But,  be  assured,  I  know  you. 

LEON  (aside).  Have  I  met 

The  eyes  that   mine   must   shrink   from  ?     Furies 

blast  them  ! 

ARAMETH  (invisible).  Yet,  Morelli,  hesitate  ; 
Were  it  not  better  thou  shouldst  choose 
For  thyself  thy  power  to  use, 
To  make  thee  wealthy,  mighty,  great  ? 
Lord  of  kingdoms  wouldst  thou  be  ? 
Speak,  and  they  are  rendered  thee ! 


76  THE     IMMORTAL. 

Wouldst  thou  fortune's  floods  control  ? 

Speak,  and  at  thy  feet  they  roll ! 

Bums  thy  brow  for  glory's  rays  ? 

Speak,  and  they  around  thee  blaze  ! 

Sighest  thou  for  beauty's  charms  ? 

Speak,  and  she  is  in  thy  arms  ! 

All  are  offered  to  thy  choice, 

Waiting  only  for  thy  voice. 
MORELLI.  And  I  forego  them  all.    I  rather  choose 
To  employ  what  power  I  may  in  blessing  others, 
To  balm  the  wounds  of  sorrow,  to  redeem 
The  innocent  from  villany's  oppression  ; 
And  even  this  alone  methinks  were  worth 
The  sacrifice  of  my  unearthly  nature  ; 
For  what  could  that  impart  me  like  the  pure 
And  happy  consciousness  of  being  a  blessing 
To  my  afflicted  fellow-creatures  ?     Nothing. 
ARAMETH.  Ask  thy  heart,  and  then  declare, 

In  this  choice  has  love  no  share  ? 
MORELLI.  Let  the  event  reply.   Appear  !  appear  ! 

ARAMETH  appears,  with  MARINA  insensible. 

HUGO.  Is  not  that  my  Marina  ?   Ha !  I  was  told, 
But  surely  it  was  false  !     Oh  !  speak  to  me ! 
Still  silent,  my  Marina  ?     Her  eyes  are  closed  ; 
Is  it  in  sleep  or  death  ?     Let  it  be  death  ! 


THE     IMMORTAL.  77 

Yes,  let  eternal  slumber  from  her  eyes 
Conceal  her  children  and  their  murderous  father  ! 
MORELLI  (to  LEON).  It  pains  me,  for  thy  sake, 

thou  pitiless  fiend, 

That  I  must  dwell  with  men,  since  men  can  darken 
Their  nature  with  such  guilt  as  thine. 

LEON.  Guilt,  say  you  ? 

Remember  how  the  good  old  man,  my  father, 
With  pride  has  held  me  up  as  an  example 
Of  human  virtue.     Well !  what  have  I  done  ? 
Poisoned  a  woman !     Why,  she  was  a  woman, 
And  could  tell  foolish  tales  not  worth  the  hearing  ; 
My  virtue  silenced  her.     What  else  ?     I  veiled 
My  brother's  wife  from  all  inquisitive  eyes 
(As  I  believed),  and  for  a  virtuous  purpose, 
No  doubt  ?     What  think  you  now  of  human  virtue  ? 

HUGO.   And   thou   art  innocent,   my  love  ?     I 

knew  it , 

Guilt  has  not  torn  thee  from  me,  but  I  fear 
Death  will !     Ah,  heaven  !  those  eyes, — those  dear 

eyes  open, 

And  smile  upon  me  !     Speak,  my  sweet  Marina  ! 
Art  thou  returned,  my  love  ? 

MARIXA.  My  dearest  Hugo  ! 

But  tell  me  where  we  are,  and  who  are  those  ? 

LEON.  Aye,  who  are  those  ? 

MARINA.  Merciful  heavens !  my  children  ! 


78  THE     IMMORTAL. 

MORELLI.  Say,  wouldst  thou  have  them  live  ? 

HUGO.  How  canst  thou  ask  it  ? 

MARINA.  Oh,  save  them,  if  thou  canst ! 

MORELLI.  There  yet  is  in  them 

A  particle  of  life,  although  no  power 
Of  earth  can  waken  it  into  a  flame, 
Which  I,  by  my  unearthly  power,  will  do, 
Though  using  it,  I  forfeit.     By  that  power 
I  lay  this  curse  upon  yon  scowling  villain  ! — 
His  next  deed,  let  it  be  in  its  intent 
Or  good  or  evil,  shall  restore  your  children. 

LEON.  Since  I  have  found  hypocrisy  so  faithless, 
No  more  of  sanctity  for  me  !     But  do  not 
Mistake  me ;  think  not  that  my  voice  can  shape 
A  penitential  whine  ;  or  yonder  stranger,  • 
Be  what  he  may,  can  have  a  power  upon  me 
To  make  me  either  will  your  good,  or  do  it. 
Thus  I  defy  him  and  his  power  ? 

[Stabs  himself. 

ANDREA.  Oh,  horror ! 

LEON.  Nay,  trouble  not  yourselves.     Haply  you 

think 

I  am  unfit  to  die,  but  take  my  word  for  it, 
I'm  now  as  well  prepared  for  death  as  ever 
I  can  be  ;  not  a  moment's  penitence 
Could  find  me,  should  I  live  a  thousand  ages  ! 
The  world  to  come — but  I've  not  been  the  fool 


THE     IMMORTAL.  79 

To  trouble  myself  with  any  thought  of  that 
In  life,  then  why  in  death  ?   My  sword  ! — my  sword ! 
Death  is  a  sluggard,  and  I  am  not  willing 
The  power  of  good  should  sooner  overtake  me. 
Give  me  my  sword  ! — thou  wilt  not  ?   Will  thy  pity 
Bestow  the  stroke  this  arm  appears  too  weak  for  ? 
MORELLI.  Ye  spirits  by  whom 
Was  given  the  bloom 
Unearthly  I  wear ; 
Recalling  my  doom 
To  earth  and  the  tomb, 
Who  raised  me  to  share 
Your  dwellings  of  air ; 
In  this  the  last  hour 
I  partake  of  your  power, — 

Let  my  power  with  your  highest  and  freest  compare. 
Be  this  weapon  in  my  hand, 
Holy  as  an  angel's  wand  ; 
Be  the  dripping  guilty  blood 
Like  the  consecrated  flood 
That  in  Paradise  is  flowing, 
Life,  where'er  it  strays,  bestowing. 
Now,  ye  living,  lifeless  two, 
I  sprinkle  ye  with  bloody  dew, 
By  every  drop  upon  you  falling, 
The  spirit  in  it?  flight  recalling. 


80  THE     IMMORTAL. 

it  is  returning  fast — 
Now 't  is  come  ! — the  spell  is  past — 

Yet  his  triumph  to  avow, 
Death  will  meet  us  all  at  last ! 

You  and  I  are  mortal  now  ! 

(The  children  start  to  tk*  embrace  of  their  parents.) 

LEON.  I  care  not  wkat  ye  are,  but  make   no 

question 

That  I  am  mortal.     Could  I  in  the  grave 
Behold  one  curse  accomplished,  I'd  bequeathe  you 
A  thousand  ;  but  no  matter.     My  good  father, 
A  word  with  thee.     Thy  fatherly  affection 
Haply  may  give  my  grave  a  stone  inscribed, 
"  Erected  by  the  most  bereaved  of  fathers 
To  the  most  excellent  of  sons."     Remember 
To  add  a  line,  which  in  my  commendation 
Shall  say  thus  much, — though    not   her   faithful 

servant 

In  life,  Td  more  to  do  with  truth  in  death 
Than,  or  in  life  or  death,  full  many  a  saint 
Whose  dying  speeches  have  been  chronicled 
For  others  to  repeat  on  the  occasion. 
Adieu  !  forget  me  not  ?  [Dies. 

ANDREA.  Oh,  God  of  heaven  ! 


THEIMMORTAL.  81 

MORELLI.  Be  not  so  agonized !     While  these  are 

happy, 

,  As  they  deserve  to  be,  joy  in  their  joy, 
And  be  that  wretch  forgotten  ! 

ANDREA.  Can  he  be 

Forgiven  ? 

MORELLI  (to  FELICIA).  Lady,  most  fair  thou  art, 

and  I  believe 

Most  excellent,  and  worth  the  sacrifice 
Of  all  accounted  high,  save  the  approval 
Of  conscience  and  of  heaven,  whose  condemnation 
Were  merited,  if,  even  for  thy  possession, 
I  should  inflict  upon  a  fellow  creature 
The  agonies  to  which  the  loss  of  thee 
•  Would  doom  this  youth.     His  love  is  not  unworthy 
A  recompense.     As  I  unite  your  hands 
May  heaven  unite  your  hearts  ! 

ADRIAN.  Thou  generous  being, 

Is  it  sin  to  worship  thee  ? 

MORELLI.  How  blest  I  feel ! 

How  glad  I  am  that  I  have  rather  chosen 
The  privilege  of  doing  good  to  others, 
Than  all  presented  for  my  own  advantage  ! 
Now,  Arameth ! 

ARAMETH.  This  choice  of  thine 

Upon  thee  calls  the  smile  divine 
4* 


82  THE    IMMORTAL. 

Of  Him  above,  who  wills  to  thee 
A  recompense  that  cannot  be 
Accorded  by  this  world  or  mine. 
The  bloom,  the  vigor,  and  the  pride 

Of  youth,  which  in  thy  age  thou  wearest, 
By  age  like  thine  has  been  denied 

To  all  of  earth,  though  once  its  fairest : 
And  thee  no  longer  must  I  save 

From  the  decree  on  mortals  spoken  ; 
To  time's  corruption  and  the  grave 

Earth  calls  thee  back.    The  spell  is  broken. 

(MORELLI  falls  on  the  ground  as  an  old  man  in 
extreme  decrepitude) 

ARAMETH.  Know  ye  not,  ye  sons  of  earth, 
That  for  death  ye  have  your  birth  ? 
That  your  Maker  placed  you  here 
But  to  seek  a  better  sphere, 
Which  attained,  will  be  forgot 
All  the  ills  of  mortal  lot. 
Care  not  then  if  o'er  your  path 
Hover  fortune's  smile  or  wrath, 
But  alike,  through  good  and  ill, 
Onward,  heavenward,  struggle  stil 
Thou,  Morelli,  thou  hast  known 
It  is  mercy's  doom  alone 


THE     IMMORTAL. 


83 


Sends  the  angel  of  the  grave, 

From  the  ills  of  life  to  save. 

Dreader  could  no  curse  appear 

Than  to  be  immortal  here, 

Or  in  any  world,  save  where 

Angels  bliss  eternal  share ; 

Now  to  dwell  with  them  arise, 

Be  immortal  in  the  skies  ! 

Give  thy  body  to  the  sod, 

Give  thy  spirit  to  its  God  ! 
CHORUS  OF  SPIRITS.  Give  thy  body  to  the  sod, 

Give  thy  spirit'  to  its  God ! 
ARAMETH.  Now  't  is  done  !  On  angel  wings 

Forth  the  bright  immortal  springs ! 

Mortals,  would  ye  follow  him 

To  the  blessed  cherubim  ? 

Love  your  Maker  and  mankind, 

And  the  path  to  heaven  ye  find. 

Here  your  life  was  only  given 

That  ye  thus  might  seek  for  heaven ; 

Here  death  cometh  but  to  bear 

The  delivered  spirit  there. 


END  OF  THE  IMMORTAL. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  87 


TO  MY  WIFE. 


THE  winds  of  March  are  loose  again, 

And,  shrinking  from  the  piercing  air, 
I  shudder  at  the  thought  of  pain 

That  I  have  borne,  and  yet  may  bear  ; 
But  while  the  scenes  return  to  view, 

Which  seemed  to  be  my  last  on  earth, 
Returns  the  heavenly  picture  too 

Of  all  thy  love,  and  all  thy  worth ! 

Thy  matchless  love,  that  bore  thee  up 

Through  trials  few  have  heart  to  brave ; 
That  shrank  not  from  the  bitter  cup 

Of  anguish,  which  my  anguish  gave  ; 
That,  while  thy  noble  heart  was  wrung 

With  pity,  tenderness,  and  grief, 
Still  o'er  my  couch  of  suffering  hung, 

To  give  me  comfort  and  relief. 


88  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

A  common  love  might  weep  and  sigh, 

To  spare  its  grief,  my  presence  shun, 
And  in  its  weakness  let  me  die, 

Lamented  much,  but  aided  none  ; 
Thy  nobler  nature  rose  above 

All  trials,  so  they  gave  me  aid, 
And  on  the  altar  of  thy  .love 

Thy  heart  a  sacrifice  was  laid. 

Thy  sighs  were  hushed,  thy  tears  supprest, 

Lest  I  thy  sorrow  should  divine  ; 
Thy  eyes  refused  their  needful  rest, 

To  watch  the  fitful  sleep  of  mine  : 
No  sharer  in  a  task  so  dear 

And  sacred  would  thy  love  allow  ; 
By  day  and  night,  still  hovering  near, 

My  "  MINISTERING  ANGEL  "  thou  ! 

Thou  wast  my  dearest  hope  on  earth 

Since  first  I  met  thy  welcome  sight ; 
But  never  had  I  known  thy  worth 

"Till  in  affliction's  darkest  night. 
Oh,  then  thy  peerless  goodness  shone, 

A  star  amid  the  gloom  profound, 
Dispersed  the  clouds  above  me  thrown, 

And  scattered  heavenly  radiance  round. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  89 

The  God  of  mercy  heard  thy  prayer, 

When  hope  itself  receded  fast, 
And  gave  to  thy  unwearied  care 

The  life  that  seemed  already  past ; 
That  life  I  ever  would  employ 

To  bless  thee,  and  thy  love  repay — 
To  give  thee  comfort,  peace,  and  joy, 

To  be  thy  friend,  thy  shield,  thy  stay. 

I  will  not  at  the  past  repine, 

Though  the  remembrance  wakes  a  sigh — 
To  know  the  worth  of  love  like  thine 

'Twere  well  to  suffer  or  to  die ! 
But  ah  !  at  once  its  worth  to  know 

And  to  enjoy  its  fulness,  live! 
No  greater  favor  heaven  can  show, 

And  earth  has  nothing  more  to  give. 


* 

90  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


* 

SHE   CALLS   ME    FATHER. 


SHE  calls  me  "  father !" — though  my  ear 

That  thrilling  name  shall  never  hear, 

Yet  to  my  heart  affection  brings 

The  sound  in  sweet  imaginings ; 

I  feel  its  gushing  music  roll 

The  stream  of  rapture  on  my  soul ; 

And  when  she  starts  to  welcome  me, 

And  when  she  totters  to  my  knee, 

And  when  she  climbs  it  to  embrace 

My  bosom  for  a  hiding-place, 

And  when  she  nestling  there  reclines, 

And  with  her  arms  my  neck  entwines, 

And  when  her  lips  of  roses  seek 

To  press  their  sweetness  on  my  cheek, 

Or  when  upon  my  careful  breast 

I  lull  her  to  her  cherub  rest, 

The  heart  to  which  I  hold  my  dove 

Swells  with  unutterable  love  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS'.  91 


A  FATHER'S  DIRGE. 

Mr  hopes  are  blighted,  and  I  feel 
An  anguish  I  may  not  reveal ; 

And  fain  I  would  retire  apart 
Where  common  eyes  may  not  intrude, 
Who  care  not  for  the  sanctitude 

Of  sorrow  in  a  father's  heart. 
But  I  have  duties  to  perform 

To  others,  who  have  claims  as  strong, 
And  still  must  struggle  with  the  storm 

Of  life,  amid  the  careless  throng  ; 
And  veil  the  secret  of  my  breast 
With  smile  for  smile,  and  jest  for  jest? 
While  fain  I  would  sit  down  and  rest 

Beside  my  darling's  clay ! 
Yes — for  my  wife's  and  children's  sake, 
I'll  bid  my  energies  awake, 
And  nerve  the  heart  that  swells  to  break, 
To  be  their  shield  and  stay. 

But,  oh  !  the  sorrow,  when  I  come 
From  weary  work  to  lonely  home, 


92  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

To  miss  that  face,  whose  pleasant  sight 
Gave  to  that  home  a  heavenly  light ! 
At  hour  of  rest,  how  sad  to  miss 
The  comfort  of  her  parting  kiss  ! 
And  every  morning  when  I  wake 
This  lonely  heart  is  nigh  to  break, 
For  ever  when  I  rose  from  sleep, 

Beside  me  smiled  her  cherub  face, 
And  close  and  closer  she  would  creep 

To  nestle  in  my  heart's  embrace ! 
But  now  at  every  wonted  spot 
I  seek  her,  and  I  find  her  not ; 
Save  that  at  times  before  my  eyes 
Distempered  fancy  bids  her  rise 
As  last  I  saw  her,  night  and  day 
Gasping  her  little  life  away  ! 
And  then  my  anguish  and  despair 
Become  too  terrible  to  bear  ! 


Yet,  my  beloved  !  though  I  must  mourn, 

And  nothing  can  my  grief  beguile, 
I  should  rejoice  that  thou  wast  born 

To  bless  me,  though  but  for  a  while. 
The  love  that  lightened  up  thy  eyes, 

And  smiled  on  thy  angelic  face, 
Was  such  a  glimpse  of  Paradise, 

As,  though  but  for  a  little  space, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  93 

A  sacred  influence  has  left 
Of  which  we  cannot  be  bereft, 
And  tells  us  what  the  heavens  must  be 
That  for  a  moment  lent  us  thee, 
And  fires  our  zeal  to  persevere 
To  meet  thee  in  that  better  sphere, 
Where  yet  we  trust  redeemed  to  stand, 
And  lead  our  darling  by  the  hand, 
Thou  best  of  all  our  hearts  held  dear  ! 

If  thoti  canst  see  us  from  above, 
At  last  thou  knowest  all  the  love, 

Nor  words  nor  tears  could  tell ; 
Thou  readest  in  thy  father's  heart, 
Of  which  thou  wast  the  dearest  part, 

A  love  unspeakable ! 
And  thou  dost  love  me,  my  sweet  child, 
And  thy  affeetions  from  the  skies 
Come  down  to  bless  me,  till  I  rise 
To  meet  them,  pure  and  undefined ; 
Oh,  let  me  then  be  reconciled, 
And  conquer  passion's  bitterness, 

For  why  should  we  deplore 
That  earth  has  now  one  sufferer  less, 

And  heaven  one  angel  more  ! 
The  sun  rose  glorious  on  thy  birth, 

As  if  he  welcomed  thee  to  day, 


94  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

And  shone  as  glorious,  when  to  earth 
We  gave  thy  cold  unconscious  clay. 
I  saw  him  on  his  noonday  throne, 

In  summer's  proudest  hour, 
And  thought,  of  all  he  looked  upon, 

Thou  wast  the  fairest  flower  ! 
Where  art  thou  now  ? 

Nay,  it  is  weak, 

'  Tis  wrong,  that  gloomy  grave  to  seek  ! 
Let  Faith  and  Hope  unveil  the  skies 
A  moment  to  affection's  eyes  ! 
Look  up,  my  soul !  and  there  behold 
A  heavenly  form  with  locks  of  gold, 
That  shade  a  brow  divinely  bright, 
And  float  upon  her  wings  of  light ; 
All  Paradise  is  in  her  face, 
And  in  her  smile  celestial  grace ; 
She  looks  upon  us  from  above 
With  pity  and  undying  love, 
And  gently  beckons  to  her  home — 
I  come,  my  Anna ! — soon  I  come ! 
And  till  we  meet,  will  strive  and  pray 
To  keep  upon  the  only  way, 
Nor  more  repine  that  thou  dost  rest 
Upon  a  Heavenly  Father's  breast ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  95 


THE  WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


IN  the  watches  of  the  night, 

When  the  world  is  hushed  to  sleep, 

Comes  my  anguish  strong  and  deep, 
Like  a  torrent  at  its  height, 
Rushing  with  resistless  might, 

Every  barrier  down  to  sweep  ; 
Parts  the  darkness  like  a  veil, 

And  reveals  my  dying  dove, 
With  her  patient  face  and  pale, 

And  her  sweet  blue  eyes  of  love, 
Sadly  looking  into  mine, 
Till  they  every  look  resign. 
Now  returns  the  scene  of  death — 
Slowly  gasps  away  her  breath  ; 
Now  the  lips  that  were  my  bliss 
Move  as  for  a  parting  kiss  ; 
Now  she  gives  a  feeble  start, 
As  to  nestle  to  my  heart ! 


96  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS 


ow  its  breaking  fibres  thrill ! 
All  is  over  ! — from  my  sight 
Fades  the  vision  of  the  night, 
And  the  night  is  darker  still ! 

Day  returns — thou  swelling  breast, 
Hush !  and  hide  thy  sacred  guest ! 

Forth  into  the  world  I  go — 
Hollow  laugh  and  ribald  jest 

Round  me  bandy  to  and  fro  ; 
And  I  look  and  list  the  while 
With  a  forced  and  feeble  smile, 

Bitter  mockery  of  woe ! 
Common  talk  of  common  things, 
Like  the  buzz  of  insect  wings, 
Brushes  o'er  my  weary  mind, 
And  I  answer  in  some  kind, 

What  I  hardly  care  or  know. 

Nay,  my  soul,  this  is  not  well ! 

Rouse  thee  from  thy  stern  despair, 
Crush  the  thoughts  that  would  rebel, 

Nobly  bear  what  thou  must  bear  ! 
Leave  it  to  the  common  crew 

In  their  sorrow  to  be  weak ; — 

In  the  might  of  anguish  seek 
Might  to  bear  and  might  to  do ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  97 

Gather  up  thy  inmost  strength — 

To  some  earnest  task  apply  ; 
So  shalt  thou  escape  at  length 

Thoughts  that  else  would  bid  me  die  ! 

THOU  from  whom  all  blessings  came  ! 
Thou  who  dost  at  will  reclaim  ! 
Thou  who  the  GREAT  FATHER  art, 
And  in  every  parent's  breast 
Strongest  feelings  hast  imprest, 
Sweetest,  purest,  holiest, 
Yet  canst  rend  a  parent's  heart, 
Snapping  all  its  links  apart ! 

Thou  who  didst  the  boon  bestow, 
Once  my  comfort,  hope,  and  pride, 

Yet  removed  it  at  a  blow — 
May  that  blow  be  sanctified ! 
Though  my  heart  is  sorely  tried — 

Though  my  hopes  are  in  the  dust, 
In  thy  wisdom  I  confide, 

In  thy  boundless  mercy  trust ! 


98  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS 


MY  BOY. 


Mr  boy  !  my  boy  !  what  hopes  and  fears 
Are  prophets  of  thy  future  years  ! 
How  many  smiles — how  many  tears 

Shall  glisten  o'er  this  face  ! 
This  eye,  so  innocently  bright, 
May  kindle  with  a  wilder  light, 

In  pleasure's  maddening  chase  : 
This  brow,  where  quiet  fancies  lie, 
May  proudly  lift  itself  on  high, 

In  fierce  ambition's  race ; 
This  form,  so  beautiful,  so  blithe, 
May  waste  in  sickness,  or  may  writhe 

In  agony's  embrace ; 
This  cheek  may  lose  its  healthful  blush, 
For  sorrow's  languor,  passion's  flush, 

Or  thought's  corrosive  trace  ; — 
But  of  all  evils  that  may  come, 
My  prayer  the  most  would  shield  thee  from 

The  guilty  or  the  base. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  99 

Thy  heritage  is  but  my  name  ; 
Then  prize  its  purity  of  fame, 

And  shield  it  from  disgrace ; 
And  if  that  name  have  some  renown, 
May  it  be  thine  a  brighter  crown 

Upon  it  yet  to  place  ! 
For  should  a  prouder  wreath  be  thine 
Than  ever  was  or  shall  be  mine, 

The  more  will  be  my  joy — 
The  vanity  of  fame  I've  found  ; 
Still  could  I  wish  its  laurels  crowned, 

My  boy  !  my  only  boy  ! 

And  yet,  should  genius  never  roll 
Its  inspiration  on  thy  soul, 

Nor  gift  thee  with  the  might 
To  image  such  creations  forth 
As  crown  "  the  Minstrel  of  the  North,"* 

Imperishably  bright ; 
Or  with  a  Shakspeare's  Muse  of  fire 
Up  to  the  highest  heaven  aspire, 

The  sun  of  every  sight — 
If  science  shall  not  in  thy  mind 
Unfold  a  beacon  to  mankind, 

Amid  the  mental  night ; 

*  Walter  Scott. 


100  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Or  if  thy  arm  shall  never  wield 
A  hero's  sword,  on  conquest's  field, 

To  guard  thy  country's  right — 
If  all  the  glorious  hopes  be  vain 
That  often  float  athwart  my  brain 

In  visions  of  delight — 
Still  thou  as  fully  canst  complete 
The  hope — of  all  most  dear  and  sweet 

That  may  my  mind  employ — 
All  other  wreaths  I  can  resign, 
So  virtue's  trophies  may  be  thine, 

My  boy !  my  only  boy ! 


THE  CHARMS  OF   WOMAN 

THE  glittering  stars  we  admire, 

And  the  sun  on  his  throne  in  the  skies  ; 
And  we  worship  the  lovelier  fire 

That  sparkles  in  woman's  sweet  eyes ; 
The  bloom  of  the  flourishing  roses 

Delight  to  the  eyes  can  impart, 
And  the  bloom  that  dear  woman  discloses 

Has  far  more  delight  for  the  heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  101 

How  sweetly  the  zephyrs  are  throwing 

The  fragrance  they  snatch  from  the  flowers  ! 
How  sweeter  the  breath  that  is  flowing 

From  the  pure  lips  of  woman  to  ours  ! 
Whatever  around  thee  thou  meetest, 

The  spell  of  delight  that  can  lend, 
The  brightest,  the  fairest,  the  sweetest, 

In  woman  far  lovelier  blend. 

Her  eyes  have  a  heavenly  splendor, 

But  if  virtue  have  kindled  its  star 
In  her  soul,  its  resplendence  will  lend  her 

A  light  that  is  lovelier  far  ! 

O 

Her  breath  has  a  sweetness  when  blending 
With  ours  in  the  pure  kiss  of  love  ; 

Far  sweeter  that  breath  when  ascending 
In  prayer  to  her  Maker  above. 

When  in  one  all  the  charms  are  united 

On  the  soul  and  the  senses  that  steal, 
When  we  gaze  on  her  softness  delighted, 

Or  when  to  her  brightness  we  kneel, 
However  those  beauties  may  ravish, 

And  fetter  the  soul  and  the  eyes, 
Not  on  them  all  our  thoughts  should  we  lavish, 

But  spare  one,  at  least,  for  the  skies. 


102  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

If  the  light  of  her  eyes  we  admire, 

Oh,  what  is  the  glory  of  HJM, 
From  whom  heaven's  eyes  had  the  fire, 

To  which  even  beauty's  were  dim  ! 
Who  the  blaze  to  Apollo  has  given, 

Which  the  stars  to  behold  cannot  bear  ! 
What  splendor  on  earth  or  in  heaven 

Can  with  its  Creator's  compare  ? 

If  all  the  creation  discloses 

Such  beauty  our  homage  to  claim, 
How  awful  a  beauty  reposes 

On  the  brow  of  the  God  whence  it  came  ! 
When  woman  upon  you  has  laid  her 

Control,  while  you  love  and  adore, 
Oh,  think  of  the  BEING  who  made  her, 

And  love  him  and  worship  him  more  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  103 


To   MRS.  MARY  B. 

ON    HER    BIRTHDAY. 

LADY  !  thy  friends  may  well  unite 

To  hail  the  hour  that  gave  thee  birth  ; 

For  it  might  seem  a  child  of  light 

That  moment  came  from  heaven  to  earth. 

I  speak  not  of  the  form  or  face, 

Though  both  might  claim  the  poet's  song  ; 
With  every  charm  of  beauty's  grace, 

Diviner  charms  to  thee  belong. 

The  sense  of  duty,  pure  and  high, 
Which  gives  the  orphans  in  thy  care 

All  that  a  mother  can  supply, 

And  in  thy  heart  an  equal  share : 

True  friendship  that  can  never  fade, 

Affection  won  by  manly  worth, 
Which  well  bestowed,  and  well  repaid, 

Can  make  a  Paradise  on  earth. 


104  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Good  humor's  smile,  for  ever  bright, 
That  casts  a  sunshine  all  around, 

Truth  in  her  spotless  robe  of  light, 
And  virtue  like  a  seraph  crowned  ! 

These  are  the  charms  that  most  express 

A  mind  with  more  of  heaven  than  earth- 
Friends,  husband,  children,  all  may  bless 
The  auspicious  hour  that  gave  it  birth  ! 


TWELVE  years  ago  !  how  swift  their  flight, 
Since  first  thy  fate  was  linked  with  mine  ! 

How  much  they  brought  of  dark  or  bright 
To  crown  thy  love,  or  prove  its  might, 
My  faithful  Valentine ! 

Twelve  years  ago,  my  chosen  bride  ! 

How  proud  was  I  to  call  thee  mine  ! 
But  more  my  love,  and  more  my  pride, 

Since  years  on  years  thy  worth  have  tried, 
My  precious  Valentine  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  105 

It  may  be  sorrow  and  despair 

At  times  have  wrung  this  heart  of  mine ; 
But  to  thy  love  I  could  repair, 
And  find  my  peace  and  solace  there, 

My  sweetest  Valentine  ! 

And  every  joy  that  I  may  know, 

When  kinder  fortune  seems  to  shine, 

Wins  from  thy  smile  a  brighter  glow — 

To  see  thee  happy  makes  me  so, 
My  dearest  Valentine  ! 

Sweet  mother  of  the  cherub  boy, 

Round  whom  our  fondest  hopes  entwine ! 

May  he  his  coming  years  employ 

To  be  thy  comfort,  pride,  and  joy, 
And  bless  my  Valentine  ! 


5* 


100  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


MY  LITTLE  FRIEND. 

"  OF    SUCH    IS    THE    KINGDOM    OF    HEAVEN." 

OFTEN  while  I  sit  apart 
Comes  a  yearning  of  the  heart, 
With  a  sense  of  loneliness 
Hard  to  bear  or  to  express  ; 
Then  of  ill-repaid  affections 
Throng  the  saddest  recollections, 
And  of  friends  I  used  to  know 
Till  the  hour  to  prove  them  so  ! 
Friendship  then  a  fable  seems, 
Love,  the  most  absurd  of  dreams. 

Thus  I  sit  and  muse  alone — 

Sudden  comes  a  fairy  face, 
Dimpling  with  a  smile  divine ; 
Glides  a  tiny  hand  in  mine, 
And  a  little  arm  is  thrown 

Round  my  neck  with  winning  grace  ; 
And  a  pair  of  sweet  blue  eyes 
Look  in  mine  with  quaint  surprise, 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  107 

And  a  lip  of  roses  pouts 

In  assurance  of  a  kiss — 
Care  be  hanged  ! — away  with  doubts  ! 

Love  is  truth  ! — and  life  is  bliss ! 

Potent  as  the  harp  divine, 

David  played  to  moody  Saul, 
Comes  her  spirit  upon  mine, 

When  of  gloom  the  saddest  thrall, 
And  away  the  shadows  run, 
Like  the  clouds  before  the  sun  ! 
Blessings  on  the  little  fairy 

Whose  affections,  frank  and  artless, 

Prove  the  world  not  wholly  heartless ! — 
Thou  wilt  not  forsake  me,  MARY  ! 


108  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


A  HUNDRED  YEARS  FROM  NOW. 

WHAT  millions  live  to-day 
As  they  might  "ever  stay, 
How  soon  to  pass  away  ! 

Sweet  face  and  lofty  brow, 
So  pleasant  now  to  see — 
Alas  !  where  will  they  be 

A  hundred  years  from  now  ? 

The  sage  with  silver  hair, 
Proud  youth  and  maiden  fair, 
Time  will  not  pause  to  spare — 

Glad  childhood's  sunny  brow, 
The  infant's  dimpling  face — 
All  gone  without  a  trace, 

A  hundred  years  from  now  ! 

The  ills  we  scarce  sustain, 
The  trouble  and  the  pain 
That  vex  the  heart  and  brain, 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  109 

And  wring  the  calmest  brow — 
All,  serious  as  they  seem, 
Fade,  a  forgotten  dream, 
A  hundred  years  from  now  ! 

The  time  seems  far  away, 
Yet  will  not  long  delay  ; 
It  comes  with  every  day 

That  goes,  we  know  not  how  ! 
Howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 
'T  is  all  the  same  at  last, 

A  hundred  years  from  now. 

In  all  but  this  the  same — 
Some  few  may  leave  a  name, 
A  monument  of  fame 

That  time  shall  never  bow, 
Or  heavenly-thoughted  page, 
To  consecrate  our  age 

A  hundred  years  from  now  ! 


110  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


AMBITION. 

ADDRESSED    TO    MY    SON. 

WHEN  I  was  young,  my  noble  boy  ! 

Ambition  filled  my  ardent  mind  ; 
I  thought  I  could  my  powers  employ 

To  be  a  blessing  to  mankind. 
Statesman  or  hero,  bard  or  sage, 

I  thought  I  might  achieve  a  name 
To  stand  the  glory  of  the  age, 

And  flourish  in  immortal  fame. 
Romantic  dreams  !  how  swift  they  fled, 

Dispersed  in  even  childhood's  day  ! 
In  every  path  I  wished  to  tread 

Misfortune  sternly  barred  the  way  ! 
Some  little  good  I  may  have  wrought, 

And  penned  some  not  inglorious  songs  ; 
But  opened  no  new  worlds  of  thought, 

Nor  saved  a  people  from  their  wrongs. 
Thou  too  wilt  own  ambition's  sway  : — 

No  matter  so  it  prompt  no  sin — 
I  care  not  if  its  voice  should  say, 

Be  all  thy  father  should  have  been  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  Ill 

Ambition  is  of  various  kinds, 

And  even  in  the  child  proclaims 
The  cast  of  great  or  common  minds, 

According  to  its  various  aims. 
Some  place  in  dress  their  only  pride, 

While  some  affect  a  ruffian  air, 
Some  aim  at  most  to  dance  or  ride, 

Or  on  the  stage  to  rant  and  swear ; 
Some  with  ambition  meaner  still, 

Their  honor  seek  in  deeds  of  shame, 
For  virtue  choose  the  worst  of  ill, 

The  worst  of  names  their  proudest  name  ! 
Such  fancies  sway  the  vulgar  breast, 

And  may  become  the  fools  at  least, 
Who  think  that  man  was  made  at  best 

To  be  partaker  with  the  beast ! 
But  those  to  whom  the  Lord  hath  given 

A  portion  of  the  spark  divine, 
May  tread  on  earth — but  look  to  heaven — 

And  more  and  more  their  souls  refine  ! 

My  son  !  to  wisdom  give  thy  heart ! 

Improve  thy  God-imparted  mind  ! 
The  mind  is  our  celestial  part, 

More  heavenly  as  the  more  refined  ! 
Employ  thy  thoughts  on  nobler  things 

Than  those  that  with  the  body  die  ! 


112  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Mount  thy  ambition  on  the  wings 
Of  virtue  that  ascends  the  sky  ! 

So  shall  thy  soul,  while  yet  confined 
To  earth,  its  heavenly  kindred  claim, 

And  thou  shalt  move  among  mankind, 

An  angel  in  a  mortal  frame. 
8 


MY  DARLING  LITTLE  MARY, 

WHEN  childhood  shall  have  flown  away, 

And  youth  its  bloom  shall  lend  thee, 
May  all  the  bliss  of  childhood's  day 

And  innocence  attend  thee  ; 
Nor  may  a  heart  so  pure  and  blest 

For  guilt  or  sorrow  vary, 
That  now  are  strangers  to  thy  breast, 

My  darling  little  Mary. 

When  beauty's  glow  is  on  thee  thrown, 

May  it  be  thy  endeavor 
Not  outward  charms  to  win  alone, 

But  those  that  perish  never  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  113 

Since  all  the  charms  that  meet  the  eye 

Are  not  more  bright  than  airy, 
Be  thine  the  charms  that  never  die, 

My  darling  little  Mary  ! 

On  earth  may  Mary  long  repay 

The  fondness  of  a  mother, 
And  from  this  world  when  called  away 

By  death  to  seek  another, 
May  angels  her  pure  spirit  bear 

To  bliss  that  cannot  vary, 
And  may  a  mother  welcome  there 

Her  darling  little  Mary  ! 


THE  MOTHER'S  PRIDE. 

YES,  she  is  beautiful  indeed  ! 

The  soft  blue  eyes,  the  raven  hair, 
The  brow  where  pleasant  thoughts  we  read, 

The  radiant  smile,  the  winning  air, 


114  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

The  cherub  form  of  perfect  grace, 
Whose  fairy  steps  in  music  glide — 

And  oh  !  that  sweet,  that  heavenly  face  ! 
Well  may  she  be  her  mother's  pride  ! 

Yet  may  she  nobler  pride  awake 

Than  all  external  charms  impart ; 
'T  is  not  alone  for  beauty's  sake 

We  hold  her  in  our  inmost  heart — 
Her  sunny  soul,  her  spotless  mind, 

Where  comes  no  thought  to  shun  or  hide, 
Her  artless  love,  her  feelings  kind, 

Have  made  her  more  her  mother's  pride. 

Then  come  to  me,  my  cherished  child, 

And,  bending  o'er  my  shoulder,  fling 
Thy  raven  tresses,  rolling  wild, 

In  many  a  soft  and  sunny  ring  ! 
Look  up  in  fondness  to  my  face, 

And  thine  upon  my  bosom  hide, — 
Close — closer,  to  my  heart's  embrace, 

My  sweetest  joy  ! — my  fondest  pride  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  115 


THE  POWER  OF  AFFECTION 

THE  world  is  full  of  pain  and  harm, 
And  life  at  best  is  little  worth, 

Yet  pure  affection  is  a  charm 

That  almost  makes  a  heaven  of  earth. 

'T  is  true  we  often  find  it  frail 

And  transient  as  a  morning  flower ; 

Yet,  for  a  time,  it  can  prevail 

Where  helpless  every  earthlier  power. 

If  even  she  whose  welcome  love 

Once  saved  me  from  the  worst  of  care, 

Should  like  the  rest  forgetful  prove, 
And  leave  me  to  my  soul's  despair, — 

Still  the  impression  of  the  past 
Will  comfort  many  a  lonely  hour, 

And  still  the  sweet  remembrance  last 
Like  fragrance  of  a  faded  flower  ! 


116  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

But  no  ! — whoever  may  forsake, 

To  doubt  my  cherub  were  unjust ! — 
Come,  darling  !  to  my  heart,  and  take 
«       Its  perfect  love  and  perfect  trust ! 


THE  RINGLET. 

THOUGH  to  thee  this  little  tress 
Brings  no  thought  of  loveliness, 
Nothing  that  my  eye  can  meet 
For  that  eye  hath  charm  as  sweet ; 
Nor  such  witchery  is  spread 
By  the  locks  on  beauty's  head  ; 
Whether  their  dishevelled  dance 
Floats  in  wild  luxuriance, 
Or  their  gently  waving  rings 
Fall  in  sunny  glistenings  ; 
Or  in  their  ambrosial  wreath 
Violets  and  roses  breathe  ; 
Or  in  regal  band  controlled, 
They  entwine  with  geros  and  gold — 
Whether,  their  light  clusters  through, 
Peeps  the  laughing  eye  of  blue ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  117 

Or  the  shade  of  raven  wing, 
O'er  the  eye  of  night  they  fling. 
Know,  if  thou  wouldst  have  me  tell 
Whence  it  hath  derived  a  spell, 
Far  all  other  charms  above — 
'T  was  her  first  fond  gift  of  love. 


MY  LOVE  LOVES  ME. 

OH,  there  is  a  song  that  the  young  heart  sings 
That  forth  hi  a  fountain  of  music  springs, 
As  fresh  as  the  dance  of  the  streams  set  free  ; — 
"  I  love  my  love,  and  my  love  loves  me  !" 

Sweetest  and  dearest,  fondest  and  best, 
While  with  thy  presence  no  longer  blest, 
My  heart  murmurs  o'er,  as  it  strays  to  thee, 
"  I  love  my  love,  and  my  love  loves  me  !" 

And  thou,  my  beloved,  when  I  leave  thy  sight, 
It  soothes  me  to  think  that  thou  wilt  delight 
To  murmur  the  song  I  taught  to  thee, 
"  I  love  my  love,  and  my  love  loves  me." 


118  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

We  had  not  the  pleasures  to  others  known  ; 
A  better,  a  dearer,  is  ours  alone, 
To  whisper  our  hearts  in  their  secret  glee, 
"  I  love  my  love,  and  my  love  loves  me  !" 

And  oh  !  when  again  I  welcome  thy  face — 
When  again  I  clasp  thee  in  fond  embrace, 
To  me  wilt  thou  whisper,  and  I  to  thee, — 
"  I  love  my  love,  and  my  love  loves  me  !" 


BROKEN  TIES. 

Go — I  from  my  soul  disclaim  thee ; 
Mine  I  never  more  shall  name  thee  ; 
By  the  love  that  thou  hast  slighted, 
By  the  joy  that  thou  hast  blighted, 
By  the  fairy  visions  vanished, 
Ingrate,  go  !  for  ever  banished  ! 

By  the  promise  vainly  spoken, 
By  the  heart  thou  wouldst  have  broken, 
Did  not  strength  of  soul  sustain  me 
That  I  mourn  not,  but  disdain  thee, — 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  119 

Go,  for  ever  from  me  driven  ! — 
Go,  forgotten — not  forgiven  ! 

When  thou  findest  all  around  thee 
Faithless,  worthless,  as  I  found  thee, 
Thou  shalt  learn  the  worth  to  measure 
Of  the  heart  thou  wouldst  not  treasure  ; 
But  in  vain  thy  soul's  repentance, 
Irrevocable  the  sentence — 
Go,  for  ever,  from  me  driven  ! — 
Go,  forgotten  ! — not  forgiven ! 


THE   BATTLE   OF  THE  SNAKES, 

AN    EPISTLE  TO  CATHARINE. 

DEAR  KATE — more  dear  than  I  can  tell ! 
No  matter,  though — you  know  it  well — 
Dear  Kate — in  this  delicious  weather, 
I  wish,  don't  you  ?  we  were  together ; 
That  we  might  wander,  hand  in  hand, 
Amid  those  scenes  of  faiiy  land, 


120  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


Which  now,  to  glad  thy  vision,  rise 
And  fancy  pictures  to  my  eyes  ! 
To  climb  the  hills,  the  woods  explore, 
Or  ramble  by  the  sea-beat  shore, 
Where  ringing  waves  delight  thy  ear 
With  music  mine  shall  never  hear  : 
Or  rove  where  sweetest  flowers  embower 
My  pretty  Kate,  "  a  sweeter  flower  !" 
While  balmy  zephyrs  kiss  thy  brow 
Of  beauty — (might  I  kiss  it  now  !) 


'Mid  scenes  like  these,  one  summer's  day, 
A  lordly  serpent  wound  his  way  ; 
From  Ratler's  line  of  length  he  came,     % 
And  gloried  in  a  tail  of  fame  ; 
His  pointed  tongue,  his  sparkling  eyes, 
His  gorgeous  robe  of  thousand  dyes — 
All  these  with  rapture  swelled  his  hide, 
For  snakes,  like  other  fools,  have  pride. 

While  winding  through  a  tangled  brake, 
He  chanced  to  meet  another  snake, 
Who  wore  a  suit  of  sober  black, 
Which  might  become  a  doctor's  back, 
And,  coiled  in  many  a  ring,  reclined, 
While  thoughts  as  coiled  perplexed  his  mind. 

"  Good  parson  Black  !  ah,  is  it  you  ?" 
Quoth  flippant  Rattle,  "  How  d'  ye  do  ?" 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  121 


"  I'm  pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  sir." 
"  How's  Mrs.  Black  ?"  "  All's  well  with  her." 
"  How  are  the  little  dears  ?"  "  So  so ; 
The  youngest  has  been  ailing  though." 
"How  go  the  times  ?"  "  Oh,  very  bad !" 
Sighed  Black  ;  "  the  times  are  truly  sad, 
Which  plunges  me  in  deep  dejection, 
And  makes  me  ask  in  sage  reflection, 
Why  all  that  is  beneath  the  skies, 
Is  what  it  is — not  otherwise ! 
Why  Providence,  by  strange  mistakes, 
Instead  of  men,  has  made  us  snakes  ; 
Why  we  are  born — and  wherefore  die — 

Why "  "Fool !"  quoth  Rattle,  "care  not  why! 

He  who  himself  will  wretched  make 
Deserves  the  hiss  of  every  snake, 
Enough  for  us  that  all  on  earth 
Is  full  of  beauty,  life,  and  mirth  ; 
While  of  its  joys  I  have  a  share, 
I  care  not  who  may  cherish  care — 
Mine  be  the  maxim  wise  and  just : 
'  Live  while  you  live,  die  when  you  must !'  " 
"  Then  die  this  moment !"  Black  exclaimed, 
With  foaming  lip  and  eye  inflamed. 
At  this  the  other  shook  his  rattle, 
To  sound  the  stirring  charge  to  battle. 
6 


122  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

So  fiercely  they  together  flew, 
They  bit  each  other  right  in  two. 
Quoth  Black,  "  I  beg  a  truce,  my  friend, 
To  ponder  on  my  latter  end !" 
So  each  in  different  windings  past, 
To  seek  his  tail,  and  fix  it  fast ; 
But  in  their  hurry,  by  mistake, 
Black  got  the  tail  of  Rattlesnake, 
And  Rattle  to  himself  did  tack, 
Unwittingly  the  tail  of  Black. 

Now  Rattle  fiercely  shook  the  tail 
He  thought  his  own,  without  avail, 
To  wake  the  sound  once  wont  to  be 
His  "  earthquake  voice  of  victory !" 
Now  right,  now  left,  he  lashed  the  ground, 
But,  burn  the  tail !  it  gave  no  sound  ! 
He  swings  it  left,  he  swings  it  right — 
In  vain,  poor  Rattle  bursts  with  spite. 

Black,  for  his  part,  had  run  away  ! 
But,  as  he  runs,  to  his  dismay, 
Loud  from  his  tail  a  rattle  peals, 
As  if  the  foe  were  at  his  heels. 
More  fast  he  runs,  more  loud  it  rings, 
And  louder,  as  he  faster  springs  : 
He  runs  for  six  successive  suns, 
And  still  it  rattles  as  he  runs  : 


• 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  123 

He  runs  and  runs  till  out  of  breath, 
And  then  the  rattle  sleeps  in  death. 

You  say  this  story  can't  be  true — 
Dear  Kate,  I  quite  agree  with  you  ! 
But  now  that  I  must  say  farewell, 
One  little  word  of  truth  I'll  tell ; 
And  well  you  know  I  speak  sincerely, 
In  saying,  "  Kate,  I  love  you  dearly  /" 

POSTSCRIPT.  Some  say  they  are  not  able 

To  see  the  moral  of  my  fable  ! 

Inform  them,  had  the  snakes  been  wise, 

'T  is  like  they  would  have  used  their  eyes  ! 

And  secondly,  it  hence  appears, 

Our  eyes  are  better  than  our  ears  ; 

From  which  reflection  I  contrive 

Some  consolation  to  derive  ; 

For  though  I  oft  have  sighed,  my  dear, 

That  it  is  not  for  me  to  hear 

The  thrilling  music  of  thy  voice, 

That  would  my  very  heart  rejoice  : 

Yet  when  my  arm  is  round  thee  wreathing, 

And  on  thy  brow  my  lip  is  breathing, 

When  thy  dear  head  my  hand  caresses, 

Or  wreathes  among  thy  raven  tresses, 

Or  clasps  in  mine  thy  fairy  fingers, 

While  fond  my  look  upon  thee  lingers, 


124  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Then,  while  emparadised,  I  trace 
Affection  breathing  from  thy  face — 
Oh,  then  I  feel  in  deep  delight, 
THERE  is  A  MUSIC  FOR  THE  SIGHT  ! 
Which  I  would  not  exchange  for  all 
That  ever  on  the  ear  may  fall. 


MY  PRETTY  BIRDS. 

MY  pretty  birds,  as  sweet  your  song, 

And  of  as  blithesome  kind, 
As  when  you  winged  your  flight  along 

By  but  the  skies  confined  ; 
Though  severed  from  your  native  bowers, 

And  caged  in  narrow  space, 
As  gay  ye  carol  through  your  hours 

As  in  your  native  place. 

And  grateful  to  the  tender  hand 
That  watches  o'er  your  need, 

Your  littl»hearts  with  love  expand, 
While  from  that  hand  ye  feed  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  125 

And  this  is  well — ye  need  not  mourn 

The  scenes  that  ye  have  lost, 
For  there  the  pangs  ye  might  have  borne 

Of  famine  or  of  frost. 

But  man  less  wise — restrained  from  ill 

By  the  Almighty's  bars, 
The  rage  to  have  his  erring  will 

His  spirit's  music  jars. 
My  birds,  my  sweet  philosophers, 

May  I  your  wisdom  learn, 
And  welcoming  what  God  confers, 

To  His  protection  turn. 


TO  ONE   REMEMBERED   STILL. 

How  oft  shall  memory's  glance  be  cast 
To  the  lovely  eve  when  I  met  thee  last ! 
No  star  was  seen  in  the  silver  sky, 
And  the  moon  was  hid  from  mortal  eye, 
And  the  sun  had  gone  to  his  briny  bed, 
Yet  a  beautiful  light  upon  earth  was  shed, 


126  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

For  the  gloom  of  eve  had  a  softened  ray 
Reflected  from  the  departing  day ; 
And  I  said  in  my  heart,  as  I  marked  how  tender 
A  light  had  succeeded  the  vanished  splendor, 
"  May  a  beam  as  soft — as  calm — and  as  sweet, 
Illumine  thy  lot  till  again  we  meet !" 

As  my  fingers  twined  in  thy  locks  of  gold 

AdowH  thy  neck  of  ivory  rolled, 

And  I  saw  thy  blue  eyes,  fixed  on  mine, 

In  soft  and  artless  tenderness  shine, 

And  I  pressed  in  mine  thy  dear,  dear  hand, 

My  feelings  I  could  not  well  command, 

But  I  turned  my  head  to  hide  the  tear 

At  the  thought  of  parting  with  one  so  dear, 

And  I  felt  that  there  was  no  pang  above 

The  pang  inflicted  on  parting  love  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  127 


MYBLUE-EYED  MAID. 

WRITTEN    AT    THE    AGE    OF    FOURTEEN, 

FORGET  me  not,  my  blue-eyed  maid, 

When  fate  our  parting  shall  decree  ! 
My  love  may  never  be  repaid, 

But  still,  oh,  still  remember  me  ! 
Thy  image,  in  my  heart  enshrined, 

In  death's  embrace  alone  shall  fade ; 
When  I  am  in  his  arms  reclined, 

Forget  me  not,  my  blue-eyed  maid  ! 

If  on  the  monumental  stone 

The  name  of  one  thou  chance  to  see, 
Whose  heart  was  thine,  and  thine  alone, 

Oh  then,  my  love,  remember  me, 
As  one  that  were  supremely  blest 

His  life  before  thee  to  have  laid, 
Could  that  insure  his  last  request, 

Forget  me  not,  my  blue-eyed  maid ! 


128  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS 


TO  MY  FRIEND,   R.   B. 

THE  only  Paradise  on  earth 
Is  found  at  the  domestic  hearth, 
When  on  the  angel  wings  of  love 
The  bliss  of  heaven  comes  from  above  ; 
Not  that  vain  love  scarce  worth  the  name, 
Whose  only  light  is  passion's  flame, 
But  love  unfading,  pure,  refined, 
Whose  throne  of  beauty  is  the  mind, 
Where  soul  communes  with  kindred  soul, 
And  heart  replies  to  heart's  control ! 
Truth,  virtue,  honor,  faith  sincere, 
Like  guardian  angels  hover  near, 
And  build  love's  altar  on  a  rock 
Superior  to  misfortune's  shock; 
Nor  time,  nor  change,  can  ever  blight 
One  spark  of  its  celestial  light. 

But  none  this  Paradise  can  find, 
Save  one  who  bears  a  polished  mind, 
A  noble  heart,  a  liberal  hand 
And  all  that  may  esteem  command. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS;.  129 

Then  highly  may  I  prize  thy  worth, 
Since  thine  this  Paradise  on  earth  ! 
And  if  the  prayer  of  friendship  aid, 
That  Paradise  shall  never  fade. 


WHAT  SHOULD  WE  DO,  MY  BROTHER? 

WHERE  pleasant  fields  are  growing, 

Where  rocks  are  tossed  on  high, 
Where  streams  in  music  flowing, 

Delight  the  ear  and  eye, 
Where  rivalling  each  other, 

Fair  scenes  invite  our  choice, 
What  should  we  do,  my  brother ! 

Rejoice  !  we  should  rejoice ! 

Where  woods  in  tangled  wildness 

Oppose  our  weary  way, 
Where  bowers  in  shady  mildness 

Invite  a  sweet  delay, 
Where  wild  birds  to  each  other 

Their  blithesome  carols  voice, 
What  should  we  do,  my  brother  ? 

Rejoice !  we  should  rejoice  ! 
fi* 


130  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

When  slowly  home  returning, 

While  moonlight's  golden  streams 
Kefresh  the  brow  still  burning 

With  day's  departing  beams, 
While  cheering  on  each  other 

With  songs  of  merry  voice, 
What  should  we  do,  my  brother  ? 

Rejoice  !  we  should  rejoice  ! 


THE   GRAVE  OF  MARY. 

mt 

WRITTEN    AT    THE    AGE    OF    FIFTEEN. 

FAR,  far  from  this  grave  be  the  footstep  unholy, 

Its  sanctity  that  would  presume  to  invade, 
By  all  who  approach  it,  with  reverence  lowly, 

May  homage  to  virtue  and  beauty  be  paid, — 
To  virtue  and  beauty,  that  almost  had  made  her 

On  earth  what  they  now  have  quite  made  her  in 

heaven  ; 

For  the  seraphic  charms  in  this  world  that  arrayed 
her 

To  wither  as  soon  as  they  bloomed  were  not  given ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  131 

Ah,  no !  they  were  only  transplanted  again 

To  shine  in  the  glorious  world  whence  they  came, 

Where  nothing  of  earth  or  corruption  shall  stain, 
Their  splendors  on  high  that  eternally  flame ! 

My  Mary  !  my  love  !  art  thou  hovering  near, 

To  look  upon  him  o'er  thy  dust  who  is  kneeling, 
While  wrung  from  his  bosom,  full  many  a  tear, 

To  water  the  grave  of  my  Mary  is  stealing  ? 
While  o'er  thee  in  passionate  agony  bending, 

I  fondly  would  think  from  the  regions  above, 
Thy  spirit  I  see  in  its  beauty  descending, 

To  calm  my  wild  anguish  for  Mary  and  love  ! 


THE  PEARL-HANDLED  KNIFE. 

A  LITTLE  boy  sits  by  his  mother's  tomb, 
And  waters  the  flowers  that  above  her  bloom 
With  tears  that  flow  from  his  orphaned  heart, 
Sobbing  as  if  it  would  burst  apart. 

He  looks  around  with  a  glance  of  fear, 
To  see  that  no  ruthless  eye  is  near, 


132  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Then  draws  froin  his  bosom  his  cherished  toy, 
His  mother's  last  gift  to  her  own  dear  boy  : 
It  was  a  knife  with  a  silver  blade, 
And  of  mother-of-pearl  was  the  handle  made. 

That  little  boy  has  a  step-dame  stem, 
Whose  evil  feelings  against  him  burn  ; 
Though  once  on  the  orphan  boy  she  smiled, 
And  kindly  treated  her  husband's  child  ; 
But  a  change  was  on  her  feelings  thrown 
When  she  had  a  little  babe  of  her  own, 
For  she  loved  her  babe  with  a  love  so  great, 
Her  love  for  the  orphan  was  turned  to  hate  : 
For  it  was  a  thought  she  could  not  bear 
That  Edwin  should  be  his  father's  heir ; 
"  And  all  would  be  for  my  child,"  she  said, 
In  her  guilty  heart,  "  were  but  Edwin  dead  !" 

Oh  !  a  mother's  love  is  a  holy  thing  ! 
But  even  from  good  may  evil  spring, 
And  they  who  would  love  with  a  sinless  love, 
Must  set  their  affections  on  things  above, 
Nor  ever,  for  perishing  things  of  clay, 
From  God  and  his  law  be  led  astray. 

Poor  Edwin  !  he  found  it  a  cruel  change, 
For  all  was  bitter  and  all  was  strange ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  133 

Now  first  in  his  life  he  felt  and  heard 
The  passionate  blow  and  the  angry  word, 
And  knew  not  what  it  could  mean  the  while, 
For  he  had  been  ruled  by  look  and  smile. 

His  father  had  gone  abroad  for  a  time 
To  gather  wealth  in  a  distant  clime, 
And  Edwin  was  left  in  his  step-dame's  power, 
Who  beat  and  abused  him  every  hour. 
But  once  in  a  day  the  orphan  fed, 
And  then  on  a  bone  or  a  crust  of  bread, 
His  strength  decayed,  and  a  fever  came, 
But  it  made  no  change  in  the  ruthless  dame  ; 
She  spurned  him  up  as  he  sunk  on  the  floor, 
From  which  he  gladly  would  rise  no  more  ; 
And  she  made  him  work  like  the  veriest  slave  ; 
How  he  longed  to  rest  in  his  mother's  grave  ! 

To  that  mother's  grave  he  crawled  one  day. 
When  he  thought  the  dreaded  eye  away, 
And  told  her  unconscious  ear  the  wrong 
Her  poor  little  boy  had  endured  so  long  ; 
Then  drew  from  a  secret  slit  in  his  vest 
The  only  comfort  he  yet  possest  ; 
It  was  a  knife  with  a  silver  blade, 
And  of  mother-of-pearl  was  the  handle  made. 


134  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Alas  !  for  the  cruel  step-dame  was  near, 
And  heard  what  he  meant  for  his  mother's  ear  ; 
On  her  evil  mind  temptation  flashed : 
At  a  blow-the  boy  to  earth  she  dashed, — 
She  snatched  the  knife  with  a  sudden  start, 
And  buried  the  blade  in  the  orphan's  heart. 

She  opened  the  door  of  his  mother's  tomb, 
And  thrust  him  down  in  that  place  of  gloom ; 
She  hastened  home  and  she  laughed  so  wild — 
"  Come  kiss  me  !  all  is  your  own,  my  child." 

A  month  elapsed,  and  the  father  came, 
And  kissed  his  babe  and  his  smiling  dame  ; 
But  when  he  asked  for  his  pretty  boy, 
To  deepest  sorrow  it  changed  his  joy  ; 
"  The  child,"  she  said,  "  of  a  fever  died, 
And  was  buried  at  his  mother's  side." 

A  year  and  another  passed  away, 

And  the  babe  grew  lovelier  every  day : 

It  was  a  bright  and  merry  child, 

And  the  father  of  half  his  grief  beguiled. 

Another  year  and  another  past, 

And  the  child  in  beauty  flourished  fast, 

And  the  father's  heart  no  more  was  sad, 

And  the  mother's  heart  was  proud  and  glad : 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  135 

She  forgot  her  sin,  as  too  many  do, 
And  fancied  God  had  forgot  it  too. 

^  O 

A  guilty  deed  may  be  long  concealed, 
But  its  time  shall  come  to  be  revealed, 
And  long  unpunished  may  flourish  crime, 
But  vengeance  cometh«in  God's  good  time. 

It  was  a  fair  and  a  sunny  day, 

And  Robert  went  in  the  fields  to  play  ; 

But  the  shades  of  night  began  to  fall 

Before  he  returned  to  his  father's  hall — 

"  Oh,  Robert !  where  have  you  been  so  long  ? 

My  child,  to  wander  so  late  is  wrong." 

"  Mama,  I  am  sorry  I  stayed  so  late, — 

This  morning  I  passed  by  the  churchyard  gate, 

And  found  it  open ;  I  wandered  there, 

To  gather  the  flowers  so  fresh  and  fair ; 

And  weary  at  last  with  my  play  alone, 

I  lay  me  down  on  the  nearest  stone. 

I  had  not  been  resting  long,  before 

I  noticed  a  tomb  with  a  little  door  : 

Oh,  mother  !  I  gazed  in  fear  and  doubt, 

For  opened  the  door,  and  a  boy  stept  out ; 

But  when  his  beauty  beamed  on  my  sight, 

My  fear  gave  way  to  a  strange  delight. 

His  cheek  was  fair  as  tke  sunset  skies, 

And  like  stars  of  heaven,  his  sparkling  eyes : 

Adown  his  shoulders  his  ringlets  rolled, 


136  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

And  glistened  and  gleamed  in  sunny  gold  ; 

But  the  charm  all  other  charms  above, 

Was  the  smile  that  melted  the  heart  to  love  ; 

Yet  was  it  a  sad  and  a  serious  smile, 

And  the  tears  would  start  to  your  eyes  the  while. 

He  came  where  I  lay  ; — he  spoke — the  sound 
Breathed  music  in  all  the  air  around  ; 
He  lay  at  my  side,  and  he  took  my  hand, 
And  he  talked  of  a  brighter  and  better  land, 

.     O  * 

Where  nothing  of  evil  can  enter  in, 

Nor  sickness  nor  death,  nor  sorrow  nor  sin  ; 

Where  God's  holy  children,  a  radiant  band, 

In  his  garden  of  glory  walk  hand  in  hand  ; 

Where  all  is  bliss,  and  all  is  love — 

And  he  whispered — '  Oh,  come  to  my  home  above  !' 

And  thus  we  talked  till  the  close  of  day, 

And  then  we  arose  to  go  away ; 

But  he  flung  his  arms  around  me,  mother, 

And  kissed  my  forehead,  and  called  me — '  Broker  !' 

And  as  he  turned  to  descend  the  grave, 

He  gave  me  a  keepsake — see  what  he  gave !" 

The  mother  looked — with  a  frantic  start 

She  plunged  it  into  her  guilty  heart — 

It  was  a  knife  with  a  silver  blade, 

And  of  mother-of-pearl  was  the  handle  made  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  137 


THE  CHOICE. 

Now  heed  my  words,  my  precious  girl ! — 
Affection  is  the  richest  pearl, 
Nor  lightly  should  be  thrown  away 
On  those  who  cannot  love  repay ; 
Beware  to  whom  thou  shalt  impart 
That  priceless  jewel  of  the  heart ! 
Care  not  alone  for  form  or  face, 
Or  winning  words  or  witching  grace  ; 
But  choose  thou  one  whose  honored  name 
Thou  canst  be  proud  to  share  and  claim  ; 
Let  it  be  one  of  cultured  mind, 
Of  generous  thoughts  and  feelings  kind, 
Who  never  sought,  nor  e'er  would  seek, 
To  wrong  the  helpless  or  the  weak, 
But  ever  would  employ  his  best 
To  shield  the  friendless  and  opprest ; 
Who  proudly  treads  temptation  down, 
Nor  sinks  at  fortune's  darkest  frown  ; 
Whose  equal  soul  and  mind  sedate 
Can  stand  unmoved  each  change  of  fate ; 


138  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Whose  faith  is  firm,  whose  honor  bright, 
Whose  love  is  an  immortal  light ! 
Such  were  the  love,  and  such  alone, 
That  can  be  worthy  of  thy  own  ! 


TO   MY  DAUGHTER. 

MY  child  !  my  own,  my  precious  child  ! 

When  I  behold  thy  charms, 
And  look  upon  the  mother  sweet 

That  folds  thee  in  her  arms, 
It  seems  to  me  as  I  possessed 

The  richest  treasures  here ; 
For  she  is  best  of  all  the  best, 

Thou  dearest  of  the  dear  ! 

-    My  child  !  I  have  but  little  store 

Of  what  most  mortals  prize  ; 
And  thousands  prankt  in  pomp  and  pride, 
My  humbler  lot  despise ; 


- 

MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  139 

Yet  thinking  of  my  wife  and  child, 

A  prouder  head  I  rear  ; 
For  she  is  best  of  all  the  best, 

Thou  dearest  of  the  dear  ! 

My  child  !  thou  hast  no  heritage 

Except  thy  father's  name, 
Which  in  misfortune's  worst  despite 

Has  won  its  way  to  fame  ; 
And  fame  is  only  precious,  that 

It  serves  the  lot  to  i  heer 
Of  these,  the  best  of  all  the  best, 

And  dearest  of  the  dear. 

My  child  !  if  all  my  little  store 

Should  in  a  moment  end, 
Should  slander  blast  thy  father's  fame, — 

Forsake  him  every  friend, — 
Thy  mother  spared  and  thou,  his  head 

Above  the  storm  would  rear, 
Blest  with  the  best  of  all  the  best, 

And  dearest  of  the  dear  ! 

My  child  !  in  all  thy  path  of  life 

Thy  mother's  steps  pursue, 
And  let  the  pattern  of  her  worth 

Be  ever  in  thy  view  ; 


140  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS 

So  shall  thy  father's  heart  be  glad 
And  proud  of  thy  career, 

And  thou  be  best  of  all  the  best, 
And  dearest  of  the  dear  ! 


MOUNT  VERNON. 

No  need  of  trophy  or  of  bust 
In  honor  of  this  sacred  dust, 
For  LIBERTY  herself  shall  stand 
His  monument  to  every  land  ! 
The  very  name  of  Washington 
Protects  the  blessings  that  he  won  ; 
For  bad  ambition  cowers  with  shame 
Before  that  great  and  awful  name  ! 

And  does  his  dust  alone  remain, 
Whose  valor  burst  a  nation's  chain, 
Whose  wisdom  made  that  nation  great, 
Whose  virtues  are  her  rock  of  fate  ! 
And  could  he  die  ?     Ye  sons  of  earth  ! 
Your  power,  your  glory,  and  your  worth, 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  141 

What  are  they  ? — what  avail  they  all, 
Since  death  could  even  him  enthrall ! 

This  moment,  glancing  from  the  tomb 

That  veils  his  narrow  bed  of  gloom, 

Upon  the  skies  to  fix  my  sight, 

That  veil  his  spirit's  home  of  light, 

I  saw  the  stars  in  splendor  dim, 

Yet  deep,  through  liquid  azure  swim, 

And  as  their  beauty  on  me  beamed, 

To  whisper  to  my  soul  they  seemed  ; 

"  What  wonder  man  must  life  resign, 

Since  even  we  must  cease  to  shine  ! 

And  not  the  starry  host  alone 

Must  fall  before  destruction's  throne  ; 

The  moon  that  from  the  sky's  embrace 

Bends  on  you  like  an  angel's  face, 

And  even  he  whose  faintest  beams 

Bathe  worlds  and  worlds  in  living  streams, — 

In  darkness  must  their  bed  be  made. 

What  wonder  man  as  low  is  laid  ? 

That  valor  cannot  death  disarm, 

Nor  even  beauty's  magic  charm  ; 

That  warlike  arm  and  seraph  brow 

Must  rot  in  earth,  in  dust  must  bow  ! 

Yet  there's  a  light  beneath  the  sky 

That  may  be  dimmed,  but  cannot  die  ; 


142  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Whatever  clouds  may  on  it  dwell, 
The  soul  is  indestructible  ; 
A  thousand  suns  may  rise  and  set, 
And  leave  the  soul  undying  yet ; 
And  to  the  soul  that  dwelt  in  HIM 
Compared,  a  thousand  suns  wear  dim  !" 


.    THE   HERO. 


INSCRIBED    TO  JAMES    B.    K- 


LET  others  sing  of  deeds  of  arms. 

By  heroes  who  have  ravaged  earth, 
Who  shook  the  world  with  war's  alarms, 

While  death  and  carnage  crowned  their  worth  ; 

A  nobler  hero  claims  my  song 

Than  we  on  history's  page  may  find  ; 

Not  his  the  fame  of  doing  wrong — 
He  lives  a  blessing  to  mankind. 

A  blessing  and  a  martyr  too — 
For  them  all  comfort  he  forsakes  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  143 

When  others  for  assistance  sue, 
From  friends  and  family  he  breaks. 

He  leaves  his  food,  he  leaves  his  sleep, 

E'en  m  the  deadest  hour  of  night, 
Though  floods  descend  and  tempests  sweep, 

And  heaven  denies  one  gleam  of  light. 

Through  storm  and  darkness  on  he  goes, 

To  hut  or  hall — no  matter  where  ; 
Intent  to  soothe  the  sufferer's  woes, 

And  save  the  mourner  from  despair. 

Scenes  he  must  view  that  break  his  heait, 
And  deeds  perform  his  blood  that  chill ; 

But  so  that  he  may  good  impart, 
He  acts  as  with  an  iron  will. 

And  he  must  bear  with  vain  complaints, 
When  nature  makes  the  progress  slow  ; 

But  with  a  patience  worthy  saints, 
Will  still  his  needful  cares  bestow. 

Alike  to  palaces  of  wealth, 

Or  hovels  where  the  friendless  pine, 
He  carries  comfort,  life,  and  health, 

As  if  a  messenger  divine. 


144  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

For  this  his  comfort  up  he  gave, 
For  this  his  health  is  often  lost, 

And  oft  another's  life  to  save 
The  peril  of  his  life  has  cost. 

Who  is  this  hero,  who  may  claim 

The  world's  applause  and  that  of  heaven  ? 

Ah,  friend  !  if  I  should  breathe  thy  name, 
No  other  answer  need  be  given  ! 

All  good  physicians  share  the  praise — 
May  worthy  honors  on  thee  fall ! 

But  thou  who  hast  prolonged  my  days, 
I  fain  would  praise  thee  more  than  all ! 

But  not  for  praise  didst  thou  impart 

Thy  aid,  or  any  selfish  ends ; 
Yet  take  this-  tribute  of  my  heart, 

Best  of  physicians  and  of  friends  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  145 


WOMAN'S  MINISTRY. 

'T  is  true  that  love's  romantic  dreams 
Are  bright  as  heaven's  opening  gleams, 
And  give  to  life  a  charm  divine, 
That  wisdom  sorrows  to  resign. 

O 

Yet  much  they  err  who  seek  in  this 
The  only  or  the  highest  bliss, 
Or  deem  that  woman's  noblest  part 
Is  but  to  give  and  win  a  heart. 
This  angel  (such  in  all  but  wings) 
Was  born  for  higher,  holier  things, 
And  best  her  ministry  fulfils 
In  smoothing  life's  pervading  ills. 
'Tis  hers  to  soothe  the  troubled  mind, 
'Tis  hers  the  broken  heart  to  bind, 
To  turn  the  erring  soul  to  prayer, 
And  snatch  the  sinner  from  despair  ; 
To  hover  round  affliction's  bed, 
With  angel  look  and  fairy  tread  ; 
Receive  affection's  dying  breath 
And  seal  the  cherished  eyes  in  death  ; 
t 


146  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS 

And  all  the  while  forbear  to  show 
The  sorrows  God  alone  can  know ! 
The  spirit  thus  sublimes  the  clay, 
All  selfish  taint  refines  away, 
Till  too  divine  to  be  concealed, 
The  perfect  angel  stands  revealed  ! 


NEW  YEAR  HYMN 

THANKS  to  our  heavenly  Father  ! 

Though  angels  tune  his  praise, 
He  will  permit  his  children 

Their  humbler  song  to  raise. 
Thanks  to  our  heavenly  Father  ! 

Whose  love  protects  us  here, 
And  spares  us  yet,  to  welcome 

Another  happy  year. 

For  all  the  years  departed, 
For  all  the  years  to  come, 

For  all  the  thousand  blessings 
That  crown  our  happy  home  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  147 

For  all  our  loving  kindred, 

For  all  the  friends  we  claim, 
We  thank  our  heavenly  Father, 

And  bless  his  holy  name. 


ON   THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  SISTER. 

BUT  yesterday  a  child  of  pain, 

That  saddened  pity's  eye — 
To  day,  a  seraph  called  to  reign 

Above  the  stars  on  high  ! 
Well  might  the  suffering  move  our  tears, 

Which  she  endured  below  ; 
But  now  that  heaven  her  soul  inspheres, 

Those  tears  should  cease  to  flow. 

Why  should  we  her  release  deplore 

From  fate's  relentless  arm  ? 
Why  grieve  that  she  shall  grieve  no  more  ? 

As  if  we  wished  her  harm  ! 
Away  with  the  repining  tear, 

The  ingrate  sigh  forbear, 
Which,  if  she  up  in  heaven  could  hear, 

Would  grieve  her  even  there  ! 


148  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Yet  Nature's  voice,  more  mighty  far 

Than  all  the  rest  can  say, 
Still  calls  us  from  the  radiant  star, 

Down  to  the  mouldering  clay  ; 
And  not  in  words  the  magic  lies, 

To  calm  the*  anguish  wild, 
Of  one  whose  lonely  heart  replies, — 

"It  was  my  child  !  my  child  !" 

And  God,  who  knows  a  mother's  heart — 

Permits  a  mother's  tears, 
When  from  the  cherub  doomed  to  part, 

The  holiest  tie  endears  ; 
And  Jesus  an  example  gave, 

All  feeling  hearts  accept ; 
Weep  on — for  at  affection's  grave, 

The  PRIXCE  OF  GLORY  wept ! 

That  we  have  lost  her  we  may  weep ; 

Yet  knowing  she  is  blest — 
That  all  her  cares  are  hushed  to  sleep 

Upon  her  Saviour's  breast — 
That  thought  with  its  consoling  power, 

Amid  our  tears  shall  gleam, 
Like  rainbow  in  a  summer  shower, 

Or  moonlight  on  a  stream. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  149 

Her  calm  submission  to  the  rod, 

Which  made  all  else  repine, 
Revealed  her  as  a  child  of  God, 

While  yet  on  earth,  divine  ! 
With  sweetest  thoughts  of  heavenly  birth, 

Her  sainted  mind  was  fed, 
Which  flung  a  glory,  not  of  earth, 

Around  her  dying  bed  ! 

May  we  from  her  example  learn 

Submission  to  our  lot, 
And  to  the  Rock  of  Ages  turn, 

Whose  promise  faileth  not ! 
So  shall  our  sorrows  pave  the  way 

To  the  eternal  home, 
Where  our  beloved  has  gone  to-day, 

And  seems  to  whisper,  "  Come  !" 


150  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


MY   GAP. 

MY  cap !  my  well-worn  leather  cap  ! 

Though  time  has  dimmed  thy  glossy  hue, 
Though  broken  hangs  thy  useless  strap, 

And  spots  obscure  thy  band  of  blue, 
I  would  not  give  thee  for  the  best 

That  graces  fashion's  votary  ; 
So  long  hast  thou  my  brow  carest, 

Thou  hast  become  a  part  of  me  ! 

And  happy  thoughts  of  better  worth, 

Are  born  in  thy  obscure  embrace, 
Than  any  diadem  of  earth 

Encircles  in  its  resting-place. 
With  thee  on  my  unhonored  head 

I  con  the  page  of  mystic  lore, 
Explore  the  lights  by  genius  shed, 

And  gather  wisdom's  precious  ore. 

For  years,  in  every  seene  of  pride 
Or  joy  that  it  was  mine  to  tread, 

My  chosen  friend  was  at  my  side, 
And  thou,  my  cap  !  upon  my  head  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  151 

And  thus  we  rambled  many  a  mile, 
To  witness  nature's  wildest  charms, 

To  revel  in  her  glorious  smile, 
Or  worship  her  sublime  alarms. 

We  braved  the  tempest's  furious  shock, 

In  shivering  night  or  burning  day ; 
Headlong  we  leaped  from  rock  to  rock, 

Or  through  the  forest  toiled  our  way, 
Or  wandered  where  the  rivers  glide 

In  darkness  by  the  tangled  cliff, 
Or  tossed  upon  their  swelling  tide 

That  sobbed  around  the  shuddering  skiff ! 

With  Jerome  thou  hast  seen  me  share 

All  the  communion  friendship  knows, 
The  wildest  hope,  the  deepest  care, 

The  brightest  joys,  the  darkest  woes — 
To  him,  then,  when  I  must  depart 

To  lay  my  head  in  nature's  lap, 
For  kingdom  I'd  bequeathe  my  heart, 

For  diadem — my  leather  cap  ! 


152  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


TO  A  BEREAVED  FRIEND. 

IF  life  were  only  given  to  know 

Such  comforts  as  on  earth  may  grow, 

And  every  hope  were  crushed  in  death — 

Oh  !  who  would  care  for  mortal  breath, 

Though  cradled  in  the  lap  of  wealth, 

Though  flushed  with  beauty,  youth,  and  health, 

Though  crowned  with  fame  and  throned  in  power,- 

Since  all  must  vanish  in  an  hour  ! — 

Since  pain  and  ruin,  wrong  and  care, 

Lie  lurking  for  us  everywhere  ; 

And,  worst  of  all,  since  we  must  part 

With  all  that  winds  into  our  heart, 

And  to  the  darkness  of  the  tomb 

Resign  their  love,  and  light,  and  bloom  ! 

In  such  a  moment  to  our  eyes 

It  seems  the  sun  forsakes  the  skies, 

And  with  the  loved  one's  funeral  pall, 

One  robe  of  darkness  covers  all ! 

Is  there  a  grief  more  deep  and  wild 
Than  theirs  who  mourn  a  cherished  child  ? 


MIS  CE  LL  AN  E  OU  S     POEMS.  153 

The  "  little  friend,"  the  playmate  dear, 
Whose  voice  was  melody  to  hear, 
Whose  fairy  steps  at  its  advance 
Would  make  the  heart  responsive  dance ; 
Whose  smile  was  as  the  blessed  sun 
That  gladdens  all  it  looks  upon  ; 
W'hose  winning  ways  and  words  of  love 
Seemed  heralds  of  the  bliss  above  ! 
Of  all  that  love  and  all  that  bliss, 
Oh,  God  !  remains  there  only  this — 
The  dying  bed — the  doom  to  part — 
The  coffin  and  the  broken  heart ! 

In  such  an  hour  of  bitter  woe 
What  comfort  can  the  world  bestow  ? 
Can  fame  or  fortune,  pomp  or  power, 
Retrieve  the  loss  for  but  an  hour  ? 
Can  science  from  the  depths  of  lore 
A  balm  for  such  a  wound  explore  ? 
Can  reason,  wisdom,  genius,  frame 
A  word  that  one  may  comfort  name  ? 
Philosophy  declaims  in  vain, 
And  sympathy  itself  is  pain  ! 

If  in  this  hour  of  darkest  night 

The  mourner  hails  one  source  of  light, 

7* 


154  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

And  turns  from  his  despair  to  bless 
The  Sun — the  Sun  of  Righteousness  ! 
If  he  should  find  his  sure  retreat 
From  every  grief  at  Jesus'  feet — 
If  there  indeed  he  should  attain 
The  comfort  sought  on  earth  in  vain, 
Oh !  who  its  blest  effects  can  view, 
Nor  feel  religion  must  be  true  ? 

In  vain,  my  friend,  would  I  impart 
Some  comfort  to  thy  bleeding  heart ; 
For  words,  although  as  kindly  meant 
As  mine,  and  far  more  eloquent, 
In  sorrow's  ear  unheeded  sound ; 
And  thou  hast  better  comfort  found — 
Religion  comes  with  radiant  face, 
And  points  thee  to  that  better  place, 
Where  those  dear  cherubs,  hand  in  hand, 
Expectant  of  their  father  stand  : 
For  God  shall  in  his  time  restore 
His  gifts,  to  be  recalled  no  more. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  155 


REST,    BABY,    REST! 

REST,  baby,  rest !  rest,  baby,  rest ! 
Thy  pillow  is  a  mother's  breast, 
Which  heaves  and  falls  with  throbs  of  joy 
Beneath  thy  cherub  head,  my  boy ! 
Upon  the  heart  that  loves  thee  best, 
Rest,  baby,  rest !  rest,  baby,  rest ! 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep  !  sleep,  baby,  sleep ! 
And  closer  to  thy  shelter  creep  ; 
Thy  cradle  is  a  mother's  heart — 
Watched  by  a  mother's  eyes  thou  art, 
Which  could  for  very  fondness  weep — 
Sleep,  baby,  sleep !  sleep,  baby,  sleep  ! 

My  boy !  my  own  and  only  boy  ! 
Thy  father's  pride  !  thy  mother's  joy  ! 
May  God  thy  future  being  keep 
As  sinless  as  thy  infant  sleep ! 
May  dreams  as  pure  thy  life  employ, 
My  boy,  my  bright  and  blessed  boy ! 


156  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

gj 


WALTER  SCOTT  AND  WASHINGTON 
IRVING. 

GOD  bless  thee,  Walter  Scott ! 

For  thou  hast  blest  mankind, 
And  flung  upon  their  lot 

The  brightness  of  thy  mind, 
And  filled  the  soul  with  pleasures 

None  other  can  impart, 
And  stored  the  mind  -with  treasures, 

And  purified  the  heart. 

Shame  on  them  who  abuse 

Their  gifts  of  peerless  price, 
And  prostitute  the  rnuse 

To  passion  or  to  vice  ! 
Who  pour  into  the  mind 

The  bitterness  and  gall 
Which  makes  us  hate  mankind, 

Ourselves,  and  heaven,  and  all ! 
We  leave  their  withering  page 

For  thine,  with  healing  rife, 
The  fevered  soul  assuage, 

And  drink  the  -stream  of  life  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  157 

Thy  shrine  is  virtue's  altar, 

Thy  fame  without  a  blot ; 
God  bless  thee,  dear  SIR  WALTER  ! 

God  bless  thee,  WALTER  SCOTT  ! 

One  only  son  of  light 

Attends  thy  cloudless  path, 
In  purity  as  bright 

As  thy  own  spirit  hath ; 
To  charm  away  distress, 

To  comfort,  to  delight, 
To  teach,  to  aid,  to  bless, 

He  shares  thy  wizard  might ! 
His  muse  from  virtue's  shrine 

Hath  never  turned  astray, 
Nor  ever  breathed  a  line 

That  love  could  wish  away  ; 
The  temple  of  the  free 

Is  radiant  with  his  fame, 
His  country's  glory  he — 

And  IRVING  is  his  name  ! 

God's  blessings  on  ye  both  ! 

Twin  heirs  of  glory's  prize  ! 
How  often  when  I  loath 

All  that  around  me  lies, 


158  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

When  in  the  crowded  world 

T  feel  myself  alone, 
From  all  communion  hurled 

That  by  the  rest  is  known, 
Debarred,  by  fate's  control, 

From  every  human  sound, 
And  burying  my  soul 

In  solitude  profound — 
Oh,  then,  ye  glorious  pair  ! 

I  seek  the  world  ye  give, 
And  find  a  kindred  there 

With  whom  I  love  to  live, 
Your  precious  magic  nerving 

My  soul  to  bear  its  lot — 
God  bless  thee,  gentle  IRVING  ! 

God  bless  thee,  WALTER  SCOTT  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  159 


THE  FONT. 

No  boon  that  fortune  can  impart 
Can  with  a  gracious  child  compare  ; 

It  winds  into  the  parent's  heart, 
And  twines  with  every  fibre  there. 

When  to  my  arms  my  children  spring, 
Or  on  my  breast  their  heads  recline, 

Or  to  my  lips  of  love  they  cling, 
No  joy  on  earth  can  equal  mine. 

Yet  e'en  on  these  so  fair  and  dear,   - 

Whose  looks  are  more  of  heaven  than  earth, 

Some  shadow  will  at  times  appear, 
Some  stain  that  speaks  of  mortal  birth. 

But  there  is  an  immortal  stream 
That  cleanseth  every  stain  away  ; 

And  where  those  living  waters  gleam, 
All  darkness  brightens  into  day. 

And  thither  we  our  children  bring, 

To  Him  who  said,  "  Forbid  them  not !" 

That  He  within  that  sacred  spring, 
May  cleanse  their  soul  from  every  spot. 


-. 

160  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Saviour  of  all !  who  in  the  charms 

Of  childhood  once  this  world  hast  trod, 

We  bring  our  treasures  to  thy  arms, 
And  dedicate  them  to  our  God  ! 


THE  SUM  OF  PHILOSOPHY 

Do  fortune's  smiles  upon  thee  wait, 
With  honor,  power,  and  high  estate  ? 
Let  not  thy  heart  be  too  elate — 

All  this  shall  pass  away. 
Art  thou  the  sport  of  fortune's  hate, 
Forsaken,  poor,  and  desperate  ? 
Still  bear  the  worst  with  mind  sedate — 

All  this  shall  pass  away. 
Our  joys  and  pains  are  brief  in  date  ; 
The  deeds  we  do  of  good  or  great 
Alone  survive  our  mortal  state, 

And  never  pass  away  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  161 


JANE  EYRE. 

WRITTEN    AFTER    READING    THAT    ADMIRABLE    WORK. 

WHAT  is  the  substance  of  all  this  ? — to  teach 

The  nothingness  of  the  external  frame 
Of  human  beauty  (serving  but  to  reach 

The  senses,  and  a  sensual  love  inflame)  ; 
To  show  that  form  and  feature  disappear 

In  the  diviner  beauties  of  the  mind, 
\Vheu  heavenly  spirits  meet  on  earthly  sphere, 

And  blend  together  in  a  love  refined ! 


SPRING  IS  COMING. 

SPRING  is  coming !  spring  is  coming  ! 
Birds  are  chirping,  insects  humming ; 
Flowers  are  peeping  from  their  sleeping ; 
Streams,  escaped  from  winter's  keeping, 


162  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

In  delighted  freedom  rushing, 
Dance  along  in  music  gushing. 
Scenes,  of  late  in  deadness  saddened, 
Smile  in  animation  gladdened  : 
All  is  beauty,  all  is  mirth, 
All  is  glory  upon  earth  : 
Shout  we  then  with  nature's  voice, 
"  Welcome,  spring  !  rejoice !  rejoice  !" 

Spring  is  coming  !  come,  my  brother, 
Let  us  wander  with  each  other 
To  our  well  remembered  wildwood, 
Flourishing  in  nature's  childhood, 
Where  a  thousand  birds  are  singing, 
And  a  thousand  flowers  are  springing, 
Where  the  dancing  sunbeams  quiver 
On  the  forest-shaded  river  ; 
Let  our  youth  of  feeling  out 
To  the  youth  of  nature  shout, 
While  the  hills  repeat  our  voice — 
"  Welcome,  spring !  rejoice !  rejoice  !" 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  163 


r 


LOVE  WILL  FIND   OUT  THE  WAY. 

THOUGH  father  and  mother 

Forbid  me  thy  sight, 
Though  sister  and  brother 

Against  us  unite, 
Though  all  that  surround  us 

To  part  us  essay, 
From  all  will  I  win  thee — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Though  oceans  may  sunder, 

Or  mountains  may  close, 
Or  tempests  may  thunder 

The  path  to  oppose ; 
Though  earthquakes  between  us 

The  abyss  may  display, 
Through  all  will  I  win  thee — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 


164  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

Through  forest  and  desert, 

Through  flood  and  through  flame, 
Through  pain  and  through  peril, 

Through  sorrow  and  shame, 
Through  darkness  and  danger, 

By  night  or  by  day, 
Through  death  and  destruction, 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Yes,  I  will  regain  thee, 

My  chosen,  my  best ! 
My  bird  !  thou  shalt  nestle 

Again  in  my  breast ; 
This  heart  for  thy  refuge, 

This  arm  for  thy  stay, 
I  will  guard  thee  for  ever — 

Love  will  find  out  the  way. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  165 


NEW   YEAR  THOUGHTS. 

How  many  are  now  in  the  cold  grave  reposing 

Who  welcomed  the  dawn  of  the  year  that  has 

fled? 
How  little,  alas !  did  they  think  that  its  closing 

Should  find  them  inurned  in  the  home  of  the 

dead  ? 
How  many  this  year  to  the  grave's  dark  dominions 

Shall  hasten,  who  welcome  its  rising  career, 
Ere  time  once  again  on  his  air-feathered  pinions 

Shall  usher  the  dawn  of  another  New  Year ! 

And  I,  who  now  muse  on  the  thousands  departed, 

May  follow  them  ere  the  return  of  this  day, 
Bedewed  with  the  tears  of  some   friend  broken- 
hearted, 

Who  now  smiles  upon  me,  unthinking  and  gay ; 
And  better  than  I  should  survive  to  deplore  them, 

The  few  that  to  share  my  affections  remain, 
Oh,  better  by  far  I  should  perish  before  them, 

Nor  hail  the  return  of  a  New  Year  again ! 


166  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

How  sad  to  be  torn  from  our  friends  and  connex- 
ions, 

And  hid  in  the  valley  of  darkness  alone  ! 
What  comfort  to  hope  their  surviving  affections 

Shall  cherish  our  image  on  memory's  throne ! 
The  hearts  that  now  love  me,  will  they  not  regret 
me? 

Will  ever  my  memory  cease  to  be  dear  ? 
The  friends  of  my  bosom — oh,  can  they  forget  me, 

If  swept  from  their  sight  by  the  close  of  the  year  ? 


GOOD  NIGHT,  MAMMA! 

A  LITTLE  girl,  some  five  years  old, 
Came,  like  the  morning  star, 

Each  morrow  to  her  mother's  heart — 
"  Good  morning,  dear  mamma !" 

And  running  to  her  mother's  arms, 
She  kissed  her  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  prattled  out  her  love  to  one 
Who  loved  her  more  and  more. 


M  IS  C  ELL  A  N  E  O  L  S     POEMS.  167 

And  when  night's  curtains  closed  around 

The  sun's  resplendent  car, 
She  kissed  her  mother,  and  she  said, 

"  Good  night,  my  dear  mamma !" 

Poor  little  girl !  her  mother  died, 

And  to  the  grave  was  borne  ; 
Where  shall  she  find  a  mother  now, 

To  greet  at  night  and  morn  ? 

Next  morning,  when  she  rose  and  dressed, 

And  found  no  mother  near, 
Without  a  word  she  slipped  away, 

To  seek  her  mother  dear. 

In  haste  she  to  the  churchyard  ran ; 

From  home  it  was  not  far  ; 
She  clasped  her  mother's  grave,  and  said, 

"  Good  morning,  dear  mamma  !" 

All  day  she  lingered  near  the  grave, 

Till  rose  the  evening  star, 
Then  turning  slowly  home  she  said, 

"  Good  night,  my  dear  mamma !" 


168  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 


WEDDED   LOVE. 

I  MAY  not  call  to  grandeur's  hall 

The  lady  of  my  heart ; 
I  have  not  power  or  earthly  dower 

My  truelove  to  impart ; 
I  bid  her  from  a  spWere  to  come 

That  far  is  mine  above ; 
Yet  shall  not  this  impair  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love  ! 

She  will  not  grieve  a  home  to  leave 

Magnificent  in  pride, 
In  lowly  cot  to  share  my  lot, 

Obscurely  there  to  hide ; 
Though  desolate  of  friend  or  mate, 

Save  me  and  God  above, 
Yet  shall  not  this  impair  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love. 

She  has  been  nurst  among  the  first 
And  proudest  of  the  land, 

Where  from  her  head  all  danger  fled, 
At  fortune's  magic  wand : 


MISCELLANEOUS     POBMS.  169 

But  ill  my  bower  in  stormy  hour 

Can  shield  my  gentle  dove ; 
Yet  shall  not  this  impair  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love. 

I  every  day  a  tender  lay 

Shall  waken  to  her  name, 
And  every  night  to  throne  of  might 

Shall  kneel  to  bless  the  same  ; 
For  years  and  years,  through  smiles  and  tears, 

I'll  prize  her  all  above ; 
And  well  shall  this  insure  the  bliss 

That  hails  our  wedded  love. 


RESOLUTION. 

IT  is  a  goodly  sight  to  see  a  man 
Whom  fortune's  mailed  hand  has  stricken  down, 
Rise  in  his  strength  of  soul,  and  stand  erect 
In  his  integrity,  and  lifting  high 
His  calm  majestic  brow,  with  steady  step 
Pursue  his  purposed  path  unswervingly, 
Though  conscious  of  the  perils  yet  to  come. 
8 


170  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS. 

We  are  not  masters  of  our  circumstances, 
Yet  circumstances  should  not  master  us  ; 
We  cannot  turn  the  current  of  events, 
Yet  with  a  skilful  and  determined  hand 
Can  guide  our  barque,  now  yielding  to  the  stream, 
And  now  resisting ;  till  we  reach  at  last 
The  haven  we  have  in  view. 


A  WOMAN    AS    SHE   SHOULD  BE 

IN  person  decent,  and  in  dress, 
Her  manners  and  her  words  express 

The  decency  of  mind  ; 
Good  humor  brightens  up  her  face, 
Where  passion  never  leaves  a  trace, 

Nor  frowns  a  look  unkind. 
No  vexing  sneer,  no  angry  word, 
No  scandal  from  her  lips  is  heard, 

Where  truth  and  sweetness  blend  ; 
Submission  to  her  husband's  will, 
Her  study  is  to  please  him  still, 

His  fond  and  faithful  friend. 


MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS.  1 7  ] 

She  watches  his  returning  way, 
When  from  the  troubles  of  the  day 

He  seeks  a  home  of  bliss  ; 
She  runs  to  meet  him  with  a  smile, 
And  if  no  eye  be  near  the  while, 

The  smile  is  with  a  kiss  ! 


JENNY   LIND. 

ALL  hail  to  Jenny  Lind ! 
The  pure  in  heart  and  mind, 
The  lofty  and  refined, 
The  generous  and  kind — 
All  hail  to  Jenny  Lind  ! 

What  though,  to  her  belong 
The  highest  realms  of  song, 
The  empire  is  more,  strong 

Of  her  angelic  mind  ; 
For  it  hath,  given  her  part 
In  every  noble  heart — 

All  hail  to  Jenny  Lind  ! 


172  MISCELLANEOUS     POEMS, 

They  say  that  she  has  given 
To  us  the  aire  of  heaven, 

Now  first  to  earth  revealed  ; 
It  may  be  so — her  voice 
Must  not  this  ear  rejoice, 

By  fate  for  ever  sealed  ; 
Yet  can  her  deeds  impart 

Such  music  to  my  heart 

As  heaven  alone  could  yield. 

Not  by  the  wondrous  powers 
That  witch  this  world  of  ours, 

Does  she  my  homage  bind  ; 
Her  glorious  mind  and  soul 
On  mine  have  a  control 

More  potent  and  refined  ! 
For  all  thy  deeds  that  grace 
And  bless  the  human  race, 

I  bless  thee,  Jenny  Lind  ! 


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